This Transient, Floating World
by the-word-builder
Summary: Due to a paperwork mistake in God's waiting room, I was reincarnated with my memories intact. No pain, no gain, or so they say. But with a bit of luck, this might just turn out alright.
1. In Which the Supervisor is God

Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of 'This Transient, Floating World.' This an OC-insert type story, in which I throw a new character into canon, shake well, and see what happens. I _will_ be messing with the story, both because there are inconsistencies in canon itself I have to work around, and because I think it's fun. So be prepared for that. New characters will be added to the description as they become relevant.

I don't own Naruto.

Enjoy!

* * *

I was pretty sure I was dead. That was the first explanation that popped into my head when I realized I wasn't in the hospital anymore, mostly because of the fact that my last clear memory was of a light at the end of a tunnel. That seemed like it ought to be a pretty big clue.

So I was dead. Probably. I didn't really . . . _feel_ dead. Whatever being dead was supposed to feel like. But my memory was fuzzy, so I wasn't sure how exactly it had happened, or if it had happened at all. Now I wished I had given more thought to my funeral arrangements.

I sat in an uncomfortable metal folding chair in a room that smelled vaguely of seaweed. I wasn't sure how long I'd been here, as there was no clock anywhere around and the lack of windows made it impossible to even tell if it was day or night. The expensive watch I treasured was around my wrist, but the hands were gone.

I took a nice long look around. It was a waiting room. There were chairs (all empty), a fish tank (with strangely stiff-looking fish) and a low table with magazines. I picked one up and leafed through it. A standard gossip rag, dating from last year.

At that point I really started to question whether or not I was dead. Something didn't quite feel right. Was I hallucinating? Had I dreamed up the whole hospital stay? Maybe these kinds of delusions were something that happened to me a lot, and I was actually waiting for a psychiatric consultation. Given how fuzzy my memory actually was, this was a very real possibility, and a far more attractive one than being dead.

I ought to tell them to give me drugs. I couldn't jolly well go about my job while hallucinating, now could I? I had things to take care of. I had _responsibilities_.

I couldn't really be _dead_ , right?

"Rue Smith?" A voice called out. I looked up to see a man in a black suit standing in an open doorway I could have bet my life's savings had not been there before. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger (it was a very well-manicured finger) and straightened a file with a snap. He looked up at me. "Would you come this way please? Your consultation will start momentarily."

Oh, so this _was_ a psychiatric consultation. I was relieved that I wasn't actually dead. I stood up, smoothed my pencil skirt and straightened my suit jacket. I shook hands with the man, and we went inside. He motioned for me to sit in one of the armchairs while he went behind the desk and gathered some more papers. It was a small office, very bland, with mahogany furniture, gray carpeting, white chairs, and a filing cabinet in the corner. No windows and no lamps, although it was nicely lit.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Smith," he said. "You may call me Mr. Dawson. We are here today to discuss your afterlife options."

I nodded, blinked, and did a double-take.

I must have heard him wrong. I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrows. "Pardon me?"

"Your afterlife, Miss Smith. You have passed away from . . ." he flipped through the pile and pulled a report out. 'Hospital acquired MRSA, following admission for leukemia.' Categorized as a type B illness. My condolences." He tilted his head forward.

' _I'm actually dead . . .'_ I waited for it to hit me, but it didn't. Like it was very far away, and didn't have much to do with me, really. Like I couldn't quite believe it. Like this was a dream.

I mentally shook off the confusion and concentrated on the task at hand. "I see. Alright, what's this about the afterlife?"

"Depending on your karmic balance you may choose from a variety of options. We'll start by going through your file to ascertain the life you led. If you have any objections to the content and conclusions presented here, you may voice a complaint. A form will be given to you to fill out, and your request will be processed. As this will result in the delay of your afterlife assignment, I recommend you use these forms sparingly."

I could only nod.

"Let us start. According to this information, you have lived a fairly balanced life. No great crime to speak of, although that sabotage incident is a stain on your record . . ."

"Hey! How do you know about that!?"

". . . and a touch of alcoholism remains your preferred vice. Your lack of restraint has often caused trouble with those around you. As such, you have no intimate personal connections with others. You would be what they call, ah, a 'workaholic.' As your adult life revolves around your work, there is very little to analyze.

"Your childhood has nothing worthy of mention, although your medical condition has strained relations with your family. I see . . . since you had a chronic medical condition that severely affected your quality of life, this is in your favor."

"Well, I'm glad to hear _that_ ," I said sarcastically.

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Within the scope of your work life, you have indeed helped to make a minuscule contribution to the world around you. Congratulations."

Just great. Listening to a guy in a Christmas green tie reduce seven year's backbreaking, tedious, and stress-ulcer inducing work to 'a miniscule contribution.'

"You leave behind neither lover nor children. Given the strained relations with your family, I would assume haunting is not your preferred option?"

"I can do that?"

"Of course. Our basic package is offered to those with loved ones or enemies they wish to watch over and/or torment; they may manifest in their world in ghost form, with a contract renewal offered every ten years. The ability to affect the physical world is subject to additional fees. Gusts of wind would be the cheapest, while full-on poltergeist activity is enabled by a substantial investment. Most people require a loan."

"I see . . . no, I wouldn't like that . . ."

"Good. That option is not available to you at this time. Next," he pulled out a different paper and quickly scanned it over. "Your karmic balance from previous lives. I can report that it is positive. Congratulations, Miss Smith."

He said it in such a patronizing tone that I couldn't be happy about it.

"Now, as for your options," he lifted his glasses. "Given your history, I would recommend reincarnation."

"What about heaven?"

"I am terribly sorry, but you do not have enough on your karmic balance to purchase a heaven contract. At this point in time, reincarnation is really your best option."

"Don't you mean, only option?" I asked sullenly.

He waved that aside. "This is our most popular package. You may choose to purchase additional benefits with your karmic balance, such as family station, historical period of birth, innate talents, or even lifelong luck." He pulled out a pile of documents from his drawer and fanned them on the desk in front of me. "These are the prices and package deals, if you'd be so kind as to look them over . . ."

All of a sudden a phone shrilly rang, which surprised me so much I thought my heart leaped out of my chest. I hadn't noticed there was a phone.

"If you would excuse me," he said.

"Go ahead." I motioned to the phone.

He picked it up. What followed was a mostly one sided conversation, with Mr. Dawson nodding and saying 'I see' repeatedly and then 'I'll get right on it, ma'am. Yes. Yes. I'll see to it. Goodbye.' When he put down the receiver, he stared at me for a moment. Then he swiped all the papers away from me and shoved them back in the drawer. He leaned on his elbows and formed a bridge with his fingers, connecting each one to its pair in a precise and meticulous manner; he looked at me over his hands, his glasses slipping down slightly to reveal intense gray eyes.

"Miss Smith, might I interest you in a special one-time reincarnation package?"

Surprised, I could only blink dumbly. It wouldn't hurt to hear him out, although the way his eyes were fixed on me was rather unsettling. By now, I was convinced this was all a dream anyway. "Go on," I said.

"My supervisor has just contacted me about a crisis situation in one of our other world offices. It was just found out that, due to some unknown factors, not enough souls are eligible for reincarnation. In essence, they have a shortage and have asked other offices to contribute. This is strictly optional, but we are prepared to offer great benefits."

"Like what?"

"A large amount of karmic credit, for one. And any one attribute from the list I have just shown you, free of charge."

"So, you want me to . . . get reincarnated . . . into another world?" My head was starting to hurt. That couldn't be right. I must have heard that part wrong.

"That is correct. Think of it as a karmic investment for the future of your soul. With the amount we are prepared to offer and your positive track record, you could conceivably afford a heaven contract in two to three lifetimes."

"How much?"

"The exact numbers would mean little to you. Rest assured that it is an amount commensurate to the favor we are asking. Between the two of us, Miss Smith, I urge you to take this deal. There are no drawbacks for you."

"Oh . . . well, alright, if you say so . . ."

"Very good," In a flash he had a contract, pen and ink pot right in front of me. "If you'd be so good as to sign here. We are somewhat pressed for time, you understand."

I was absolutely sure this was a dream. It was too absurd not to be. I mean, afterlife offices? Reincarnation packages? _Other worlds?_ No, definitely a dream. The fog over my head seemed to grow thicker as I picked the pen up and dipped it into the ink. It was a strange shimmering shade.

I skipped over the big wad of text almost automatically, like it hurt my eyes and I couldn't focus on it. There was a list with checkboxes.

"Excuse me," I said, momentarily regaining a minimum of sense. "I thought you said I could choose my own time period." I had the idea of being reincarnated into the future. I wanted to see what technology would be like.

He coughed delicately. "Sadly, we are unable to offer that particular benefit on this special contract. The shortage of souls applies to a very specific window in time."

I shrugged. Did it really matter? It's not like I knew enough about the world to be able to pick the ideal time to be born. My other options were, among others:

-high family/social status

-intellectual ability (IQ randomly assigned between 130-160)

-musical talent (perfect pitch, instrument affinity)

-charisma (naturally attractive personality)

-physical attribute, followed by a line, presumably where one could describe what they wanted

-lifelong good luck

But what threw me for a loop was the disclaimer at the bottom: "In signing, the reincarnate agrees that the above qualities may be partially or fully determined by genetics, home environment, lifestyle, and other factor subject to chance, and that this contract does not guarantee the availability of their choice. The reincarnate agrees that no litigation may be pursued against the contractor, and no reimbursement will be offered."

I was about to complain, because this was absolutely preposterous, when Mr. Dawson checked his watch and said, "I'm terribly sorry, but time is almost up. Please make your selection."

I stared at the list. None of these appealed to me in particular, as they were mostly things one could get with hard work or that would depend on the circumstances you were born into to have any effect on your life. All except one.

I checked the box for 'good luck,' thinking of my circumstances in my waking life. Between my condition, the leukemia and the life-threatening infection, it wouldn't hurt to go for a little drop of good ol'fashioned liquid luck.

I signed on the line at the bottom, and handed the sheet back to Mr. Dawson. He snapped it from me, briskly checked it over, scribbled something on another sheet of paper and stood. He held out his hand. I shook it.

"Thank you very much for your understanding, Miss Smith. Now, if you'll follow me right this way . . ." he motioned towards another door, not the one we'd come in from (which was gone).

I followed him into a corridor lined with more doors, nicely carved and painted white. He briskly passed by them, and I struggled to keep up. When he finally stopped, I nearly ran into him. We were in front of a sleek steel-gray elevator. He pressed a button and it dinged open.

"This will take you to the office of your new world, where your transfer will be finalized. You must present these upon arrival," he handed me the folder he was carrying and checked his watch. "Now, I wish you good luck in your new life, Miss Smith. It was a pleasure doing business with you, and I hope to see you again once this lifetime has passed. Farewell."

And with that, I stepped into the elevator, the doors closed, and I was left on my own not quite sure of what had happened. It started, going down, and kept moving for a long time. I checked over the papers in the folder, but I couldn't really read any of it. It's not that I couldn't understand the language, but that the words just didn't make sense to me. Like I had been repeating them over and over and over until they lost all meaning.

I wondered what I had gotten myself into. This was certainly a strange dream. It was too late to back out now . . . not that I had anywhere I could go, stuck here in an elevator. I began to wonder at what point I would wake up. Part of me didn't really want to – my memory was coming back, and I grimaced at the thought of returning to that hospital bed, with tubes snaking out of me and the smell of anesthetic in the air.

Well, the nurse would wake me up eventually. Until then, might as well enjoy being up and about.

Eventually the elevator stopped and the doors opened. On the other side was another man, dressed in a black suit like Mr. Dawson, but with a red tie.

"Miss Smith?" he smiled warmly. He looked a lot younger that Mr. Dawson, with a rounder face and longer black hair. He didn't wear glasses, and his dark eyes were friendly.

"Yes, that's me. Mr. Dawson sent me down here for a transfer." I handed him the file. He took it and nodded.

"Thank you very much. We've been expecting you. Your reincarnation procedure was given top priority, so you won't have to wait very long. Right this way."

I followed him through a short corridor and into an open floor-plan office, where many men and women in suits sat at desks with huge piles of paperwork, drinking coffee to combat the dark circles under their eyes, snapping at their neighbors, and occasionally breaking down and crying over their work. I saw one such woman slumped over in her chair, silently shedding tears of despair, while a colleague patted her on the back and said soothingly,

"It'll be fine, they're calling for help as we speak. We'll get the souls we need. Shh . . ."

This must be an actual crisis. I was glad I had accepted. I worked in an office environment, so I was familiar with this kind of atmosphere. It was maybe the worst part of the job, trying to get something impossible done before an impossible deadline with impossible tools and with impossible people. Oh, and computers that tended to crash at the worst possible time. It's like they _knew._

I had a theory that computers were sentient and the rise had already begun.

Come to think of it, it wasn't odd at all that I was having this kind of dream; it wasn't weird to dream about someplace familiar, and death did loom rather large in my mind. I was at the hospital, and I seemed to remember the doctors not being very optimistic about my chances of kicking this infection with my compromised immune system.

Or something. I didn't know, this was a _dream_. Were dreams even supposed to make sense? Heck, throw in a couple more cucumbers and obelisks and Freud would have a field day.

"Could you wait here?" The boy (I couldn't think of him as a man – he just looked too young and fresh) opened a door. "We've still got some paperwork to process."

"Alright." I nodded, and went inside. He nodded and shut the door.

For the second time in my dream, I was alone in a waiting room (was I secretly anxious about waiting?). This one was stranger than the one before. For one, there were tatami mats and cushions to sit on; no chairs. There was a pretty purple flower arrangement in a low alcove on the far wall, and sliding doors (that didn't actually open) completed the look. Come to think of it, hadn't most of the people in the busy office been Asian? The boy had been, as I recalled. I frowned, and then remembered that recent vacation to Japan my colleague took; she'd babbled about it for weeks after she came back, grinding on all of our nerves. Yes, that must have been it. Maybe I was jealous that she'd taken a vacation.

I snorted. As if. Like _I_ would ever take a vacation.

I sat down on one of the cushions, and waited. There were no magazines, or anything with entertainment as a purpose. My legs grew numb, so I walked around a bit. I tried shutting my eyes very tight, and then opening them to break out of the dream. It didn't work.

Eventually, the door opened and the boy came back, looking quite out of breath.

"So sorry to make you wait, Miss Smith. We're done processing your transfer. You'll be reincarnated in . . ." he checked his watch. "One minute."

"Alright." I guess that meant this weird dream was ending. Back to the hospital room and ineffective doctors who refused to let me call work. Back to being stuck in bed with nothing to do but mentally review everything that was going wrong in the office while I wasn't there. Back to the specter of death looming over me like a deadline.

I sighed. "See you next time, I guess."

He gave me a weird look. "I don't mean to be rude, but you're awfully calm for someone who just died. I know Mr. Dawson is very good at what he does, but I'm honestly surprised you're taking this so well."

"Wait, what . . ."

"And you asked to keep your memories, too. That's a privilege usually given to holy figures, so I can't imagine why Mr. Dawson would offer it as an option. I must say, Miss Smith, you might be the strangest client I've ever met."

A strange feeling came over me. "Isn't this just a dream? It doesn't matter what I pick."

"Why in heaven's name would you think this is a dream?"

I couldn't answer, because at that moment the room faded to black and I had this strange feeling like my entire body was dissolving. I no longer had limbs, or a torso, or a head, and I was just a floating blob in black space. I saw a multitude of stars, something that looked like a cluster of vortexes, slowly swirling in a multitude of all colors among comets and black holes. It was a confusing mass of colors, but no sound or smell or touch. I didn't have a body with which to feel them.

I had the sense that I was slowly gravitating towards one of the vortexes, one that was a strange orange shade. Around me, there were odd balls of light floating around, and I had the sudden thought that I might also be a small ball of light, lost in the infinite universe and waiting for my fate.

Suddenly, I sped up. I was being pulled inside, down into the vortex, where I was surrounded by roaring orange and fuzzy light orbs shooting down with me to the end of it. It was a dark hole, just a point, really, and I thought that there was no way I could fit down there; it was much too small. But I approached it, and it took a very long time despite how fast I thought I was going.

But I reached it, eventually. I was sucked through the small hole, and into complete and utter darkness.

* * *

I stayed there for God knows how long. I couldn't feel anything at first, but then I started to get the sense that I had a body again. Legs, arms, eventually fingers joined the parade and I tried to squeeze my fist. It was terribly weak. I trick to kick with my misshapen legs, and hit something taunt.

I felt like I slept most of the time, and in the intervals when I woke up, something new had appeared. After the limbs, I tried opening my eyes. It was dark. I couldn't see my small hands in front of my face. I seemed to be growing, too. The space was getting more and more cramped.

But it was warm. My God, was it warm. And there were sounds, coming from above. A voice I eventually learned to recognize, though I couldn't make out the words. Sometimes, different voices came from somewhere next to me; probably on my left.

Why was this place getting so small? I was being squeezed from every side. I wanted to move. I was so tired of sleeping. Or was I actually sleeping? It felt like I was still inside that strange dream, where people in suits were discussing my 'afterlife options' and making me sign contracts. And that memory, of the hospital room and the white smell of anesthetic and the doctor's words, seemed even farther away. My life was still there, in stark clarity; my parents, my sisters, my job, my dog. How long had I been asleep? I had to wake up early, walk the dog, go to work. My boss had a huge presentation planned, had to be there to look it over. Ah, and what about that land-development contract? They couldn't do that without me.

I had to wake up. I moved as much as I can, trying to extract myself from this dream. Enough sleeping. Wake up, Rue. Wake up! You've got responsibilities. You've got to . . .

And then I felt it. The pressure from all sides, the feeling of slickly sliding down a tight tube, my head deforming under the pressure; the top of it felt cold. And then the cold spread quickly over my entire body, and I was so very, very wet and slimy, it was simply disgusting. I tried to move, but I was weak. Paws grasped me. I blinked my eyes open, but everything was so blinding I couldn't make out any more than huge hulking figures outlined in the light. I was submerged in water, and cleaned off. The huge paws wrapped something soft around me.

God help me, the lunatics were right. Help, I've been kidnapped by aliens!

They crowded me, murmuring in a way that sounded worried, as I breathed in and out. Deep, fast breaths, like I hadn't breathed in months, though I knew that couldn't be true. People can't survive without oxygen, so if I hadn't been breathing, I'd be dead.

One of them massaged my chest. Irritated, I gave a short cry. It was almost on instinct, because what I really wanted to do was curse them out. What were they manhandling me for? It was bad enough I'd just been through a terribly weird and uncomfortable experience without adding sexual harassment. Hey, wasn't I naked under this blanket?

I was passed around, and given to another giant figure. I was held close, and heard a voice I recognized. It was the one I had heard, in that dark and tight space. There was something comforting and familiar about it, and in short order, I felt sleep tugging at me. I wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, I was quite warm. The hospital, strange waiting rooms and salesmen, afterlife contracts and out of world reincarnations, a psychedelic space trip and being probed by aliens; yeah, definitely the weirdest dream I even had. But it was only a dream. Comforted by that knowledge, I peacefully fell asleep.

* * *

Okay, why wasn't I waking up?

I was still dreaming. I lost track of time for a while, waking, drinking something sweet, sleeping, being rocked, being sung to, sleeping . . . rinse and repeat. It was only after some time, once my eyes seemed to have adjusted, and I could stay 'awake' longer, that I began to notice something was very wrong.

For one, the things I thought were aliens? Yeah, those were people. As in, adults. But I was tiny, had no bowel control, and rather stumpy limbs attached to a wriggly body with a head that I couldn't hold up. I was, in fact, in the body of a baby.

And I was having a harder and harder time thinking of this as a dream. Sensations were too vivid, and things were sort of making sense once you accepted the 'baby' that was just 'born' part (god, the thought of that experience made me want to throw up – is _that_ what that was?). I had a mother and a father that I could recognize, and that talked to me in surprisingly non-babyish voices.

Not that I could understand what they were saying. It wasn't English, for sure; if I had to guess, I'd say Japanese, but that also didn't quite fit with the idea that this was a 'dream.' Sure, my colleague had shown off her mediocre Japanese, but I didn't know enough to actually _dream_ in the language. But then again, weren't there reports of people waking up from comas speaking foreign languages? Wait, that might have been just accents. This was confusing.

In any case, the one that was always around was my 'mother.' She was a pretty lady, with long black hair, pale skin, and she wore a kind of bathrobe. It was green. I had a hard time accepting it as 'clothes.' She always had a smile on her face, and her hands, while rough with calluses, had a gentle touch.

And then, my 'father.' Tall (at least from where I was lying), white hair, violet eyes; dressed in the bathrobe-type clothing, always in black, with a kind of crest on the back that looked like a purple stylized flower. His tone was always apologetic when he came to see my 'mother' after a long absence. He would hold me, with a kind of gentle grin on his face, and we would stare at each other for a while. Then he'd leave.

What struck me most about this man were the scars on his hands, forearms, and face. He was probably a thug. He smelled, too, something like sweat, a little iron-ish (a bit like blood), and dirt. While not obnoxious, it seriously made me wonder what he did for a living.

I seemed to be growing. I still spent most of my time sleeping though, and the walls of my crib and the mobile above were pretty much all I saw, though my vision was too muddled to make out details. I could move better, and I was starting to make out individual words when these people spoke to me.

However, they seemed to be a little . . . put off by me. I saw them staring at each other in consternation and exchange worried whispers. That was understandable. I never cried.

There was a good reason for that. Any reason why I might cry was just not there. I did not demand attention; I did not demand to be fed; and when I needed to be changed, I did not cry because that would be rather humiliating. The main reason for all of this was because, as I quickly noticed, I still had the medical condition that had afflicted me before. This was a strong argument in favor of the 'dream' theory.

Congenital insensitivity to pain. In essence, the inability to feel painful stimuli. It was a rare disorder that I had spent my whole life with. To me, it was normal for it not to hurt when I cut myself, or when I hit my head; the very concept of physical pain was alien to me. As a result, I would constantly chew my lips and tongue till they bled, bite my fingers when I was teething, and rub my eyes way too hard until I got scratches and infections. I was half blind in one eye by the time I was eight.

My childhood was plagued by broken bones, visits to the emergency room, recurrent doctor appointments, body checks and constant worried hovering from everyone around me. It got better as I grew up and learned to be careful and look myself over for injuries, but there were still hurdles like getting random infections and not noticing until I collapsed, or remembering to eat even though I didn't feel hunger pangs. I almost died of appendicitis when I was fifteen.

But I managed to grow up, go to college, and get a good job. I was able to take care of myself. When I was small, there had always been this lingering frustration that I couldn't do what other kids could. I loved to play soccer, but a broken ankle that I ignored during a match ended that real quick; I wanted to skateboard with my sisters, but kept getting banged up when I fell and they would get scolded, so they stopped letting me tag along; I was kept away from the kitchen, with all its knives and hot surfaces, so I never learned how to cook.

Mr. Dawson had referred to my 'lack of self-restraint' during that strange consultation. I was of the opinion that I could do anything I wanted, insensitivity to pain be dammed. Since nothing ever hurt, I had a hard time believing people when they made a fuss over me. I was confident in my ability to manage my own life, even if nobody else was.

In any case, whether this was a dream or some kind of hallucination, I did not feel any pain, so I had no reason to cry. This concerned my 'mother' greatly, as she had a hard time telling when I needed anything.

I grew up. I became able to sit by myself and, since I was on a roll, decided to learn to crawl. It didn't work very well, on account of my muscles being absolutely useless. In the end, I had to rely on my 'mother' carrying me around to explore the house. I found it to be rather quaint. I had my own room in the back, overlooking a garden (I figured out it was winter by the lack of leaves on the one tree); my parent's room was next door, and rest of the house consisted of a small kitchen, dining/living room (no TV), a bathroom, and a small room that was permanently locked I took for a study. It was small, and a little old (the insulation was _terrible_ ), but neat and cozy. I stared up in wonder at the books on the shelf next to the couch, as my 'mother' put me down on the rug and tried to engage me with a variety of toys. I wondered what they were about. I liked to read, so I wanted to get my hands on them as soon as possible. Not, I thought bitterly, that it was likely I could read them.

In the end, I amused myself by pawing at stackable rainbow colored blocks and rolled around collecting dust like an oversized lint brush when I got too frustrated at my lack of hand-eye coordination.

Eventually, my 'mother' decided to take me outside, which I was very happy about. Being cooped up might not be the end of the world for a baby, but I had an adult mind and there _was_ such a thing as cabin fever.

She loaded me up in a stroller, and off we went. Even though it was winter, the air was barely chilly and felt very nice. The sky was bright blue and studded with puffy white clouds. She rolled me down a street, passing through a neighborhood with small one-story houses, most of them with rickety fences enclosing vegetable gardens, and lots of fields out back. After a short walk, we reached a more urbanized section with a lot more weirdly dressed people and vaguely Asian inspired architecture, in some ways really old, but in others peculiarly modern. We arrived at a rather conventional park with a sandbox, swings, and pleasant open space. There were children there. Some of them were swinging, or digging in the sandbox and stuffing dirt in their mouths; a group ran around, roughhousing, probably some version of cops and robbers. Two were facing off in what looked like a mock duel. Kids being kids. Of course.

I did a double-take.

Those two facing off were, I kid you not, _fighting with knives_. I thought for sure my 'mother,' or somebody at least, would stop it. There had to be a responsible adult somewhere around here. But she just wheeled me over to a bench and sat to chat with another mom, rocking my stroller, like this was a completely normal, wholesome activity for children to be doing, on just another average day at the park, nothing to see here.

Those knives were sharp. I could tell because one went flying and embedded itself with a swift _thunk_ in the tree closest to me. There were frowns all around, a sharp complaint, but the kid just quickly bowed, apologized, and went on his way.

I was _appalled_.

Where were child protective services?! Why were these people allowing children, elementary school age no less, to wield knifes and kick the ever loving socks off each other? Something wasn't right here. Not right at all.

'Mother,' seeing me staring, sat me on her lap and babbled something. She pointed at the fighting children. Then she pointed at me. And she nodded with a knowing smile.

What, you mean I have to do that too?!

* * *

That night, I had a dream within a dream. The boy I had met during my 'transfer' was there, standing in black space, fiddling with his cuffs and looking very, very uncomfortable. His cheeks were red, and he was sweating.

As for me, I was back to my normal, adult self. Or at least I thought I was. I had no sensation. I could have been a blob of light again for all I knew.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies!" the boy cried, bowing a full ninety degrees. "My blunder was inexcusable, and I take full responsibility for it!"

"What blunder? This is a dream. It doesn't matter," I said with a sense of foreboding. I was trying really, really hard to believe this was a dream, but I had a feeling my illusions were going to be shattered real quick.

"When I processed your transfer, I accidentally inputted 'memory conservation' instead of 'lifelong luck.' We've been under terrible pressure lately, so I misread. . ."

Everything came crashing down.

The leukemia diagnosis, coming late, the hospital stay, the chemo regimen interrupted by the MRSA infection; the words 'necrotizing fasciitis'; the fever, the unnoticed wounds swelling, turning violet, the tissue dying, weeping fluids, my skin becoming black and the disease progressing fast, too fast; the failure of the antibiotics, the stupor that came over me; the doctors, trying their best; the infection rapidly spreading through my body; my immune system, already weakened by the cancer and knocked down further by the chemo, unable to stop it. And all the while, no pain, none at all.

The last thing I saw was the light overhead as I got tunnel vision and everything faded away.

And then, the afterlife office, the transfer, the fact that I had been ripped off by agreeing to this madness; the boy commenting on my options, the psychedelic reincarnation, and finally that new body that had been born into a crazy world where children fought with knives like it was just another Tuesday.

And all I could think right now, as everything beat down on me, was how this just wasn't fair. Three rare conditions, all in one lifetime. What were the odds of that? I didn't want to die. It seemed to me like there were only so many freak acts of probability one person could take.

I just . . . didn't want to die. And yet, here I was, already reincarnated. Even that hadn't gone right. I wasn't even allowed to have a statistically probable afterlife.

And all because of one incompetent office worker who couldn't process paperwork properly. The bureaucrat in me reared its head. Just one little mistake . . . and another misfortune stuck to me.

I wanted to lash out. Too bad for this kid, he was the only one I could take my frustration out on. It was petty, it was unnecessary, but right now I really didn't give a damn.

"Are you saying . . . you made a paperwork mistake. Just a little mistake . . . and now I'm _stuck here_. I'm stuck in a weird world, as a baby, with a language I don't know, for _the rest of my life_. Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?!"

I tried to jump on him, to pummel him, to make him pay for this ridiculous mistake, but I truly did not have a body with which to do it. I settled for yelling at him.

"Incompetent! Lazy! Good for nothing, bungling, hopeless, worthless little peon! Who is your supervisor? I demand to be put through to them, and I demand a redo! Put me back in my own world! Hell, undo my death! Come on, what are you waiting for! Chop chop, get to work! Do you expect me to stand here all day? I have a life, I have responsibilities, I have work to do! I refuse to accept this, do you hear me? You incapable piece of . . ."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he whined. "I can't undo this, I'm so sorry! Contracts aren't amendable, under section five of the . . ."

"You think I care about _technicalities_? Get it done!"

"But I can't, the system won't let me . . ."

" _You are not a slave to the system!"_

I berated him until he cried and pulled out his cell phone to call his supervisor. He began to talk in a weird language I had never heard before, and couldn't understand. I stood at the side, a fuming ball of light.

"Hum . . . Miss Smith?" the boy said timidly. "I have an offer from my supervisor . . . she really can't undo the transfer, or the reincarnation . . ."

I was about to blow up on him again when he hastily pressed on, "But but _but_ , she is prepared to offer compensation. Enough karmic credit to afford a heaven contract on your next consultation. How does that sound?"

That was nice, but it wouldn't help me right now. "I want some kind of natural talent. Something useful." If what those kids were doing was any indication, I was going to need some help. I did not intend to deal with these people again for a good long while.

"Hum . . . how about great . . ." He pulled out a notepad. "Strength? Great strength. That would be useful."

"Are you kidding me? I don't feel pain. That would get me killed faster." The unnoticed cuts had caused the infection in the first place. I think.

"Oh, I see. Other than that . . ." He squinted. "Good chakra control might be ideal. Or large chakra reserves."

"What on earth is 'chakra'? Do you mean the yoga stuff? Isn't that from Hinduism?"

"Well, yes, but . . ."

"I don't know what that is. You people aren't conning me again. Next."

"Natural resistance to genjutsu?"

I stared at him like he was crazy. "Gen-what now? Are you making fun of me?"

"Oh, _Lord_ no. Other than that, we've got . . . well . . ."

"Well what? Spit it out!"

"There really isn't anything else . . ."

"Urg!" I cried out in frustration. "Then give me fast healing. That would be useful."

"But it's not on the list . . ."

I glared at him and he snapped the phone to his ear. He nodded, glanced at me and pulled it away. "My supervisor says we can accommodate your request. It won't be instantaneous healing, but it will be quick."

"Are you sure about that?" I was dubious. I'd only been half-serious when I said it, but if it was possible, then hey, that sure was something I could use.

"Yes. _Very_ sure. You'll learn soon about chakra, and the amazing things it can do. I promise you, your request will be granted."

' _Yeah, like a promise from you means anything,'_ I thought.

I decided that this was about all I could do about this situation. Calming myself, and with a terrible feeling of regret welling up inside me, I said "Well, if that's all you wanted, I ought to get back to my new life. Which will be terrible. Thanks to you."

He smiled weakly and hung up the phone. "I'm sure it will be wonderful, Miss Smith. Good luck to you."

"Before I leave, just one question."

"Yes?"

"Who's your supervisor?" I asked curiously.

He smiled mysteriously. "Why, isn't it obvious? She's God."


	2. In Which Things are Found Out

When I woke up, I cried. I wailed so hard my mother rushed into my room in a panic. She probably thought someone was killing me. She picked me up and rocked me, distressed, with no idea what to do because I'd never done anything like this before.

I didn't stop quickly either. I had a lot to grieve over. My family, whom I'd never had the chance to make up with after I left home; my dog, which would probably be put down (he had a biting problem); and my dear, dear work, that I would never see again. I loved my job. I loved pouring all I had into making sure the mayor's office ran smoothly, and he got to his meetings on time, and the contracts and proposals and budgets went through. I loved making the decisions about the town's management when the mayor was too drunk to care, and bossing around the newbies who couldn't do their job right, and going out drinking to complain about how incompetent everyone was to the bartender, who always gave me free Scotch on the rocks. Did they even _have_ whisky here?

I should have known this would happen _eventually_. Everybody dies, right? I had unfinished business, of course, little things that occasionally nagged at the back of my mind like an irritating recurrent itch, but I'd never thought for one second I'd actually have to _deal_ with them. Who does? I hadn't even _realized_ I would have any regrets until they smacked me on the nose and I was forced to look them right in the eye.

I mean, no one _really_ expects to meet their maker early (literally, or by proxy anyway) due to dumb luck, right? I could always roll with the punches and get back on my feet, right? No matter what, I'd be fine . . . right? I was young, in tip-top shape, locked and loaded to face whatever the world threw at me. This condition wouldn't kill me. The cancer wouldn't kill me. The infection wouldn't . . .

Right up to the end, right until it did. Congrats, you were a selfish, ungrateful person, had a minuscule impact on the world, got sick, and keeled over. Them's the breaks! But hey, here's a consolation prize: a botched reincarnation you hadn't even wanted in the first place, complete with every single regret you ever had which, guess what, will never ever be resolved, because, haha, _you're dead_! Have a nice life, sucker!

It was just so unfair.

And then thoughts of my family welled up in my mind, the ones who would have to deal with my dead, stupid self. The ones I'd run away from and hadn't thought about in years. My mother, father, sisters, grandmother, aunt, forever looking over my shoulder and holding me back from doing what I wanted.

I'd been so _resentful_ of them all, so angry and petty because of the way they treated me, even though I knew logically that I was being childish. I had a condition; they were trying to keep me safe. Instead of letting myself realize that, I'd allowed the resentment over never being allowed to _do_ anything build up until I thought I would burst if I kept at it, so I'd left as soon as I could and never talked to them again.

I wondered how they'd taken my death. I was sure they must hate me now. I'd just up and left them. Even in the hospital, I'd only thought about my job and how it was going to hell in a handbasket without me. I hadn't thought to shoot them a text, or an email, a simple, 'hey, I'm in the hospital. Nothing big, just leukemia, I'll be out in no time. What's up with you guys? Did Ruby ever get that MBA? Did cousin Louis get divorced yet? I hope he did, I do _not_ like his husband.' Sure, my smartphone was confiscated, but my roommate was too jacked up on post-op painkillers to pay much attention, and the new iPhone is really way too big, sticks out of your pocket, a real hazard, you know? And nobody knows how to properly password protect anything these days, especially not old people. 'password' and '1234' are _not_ secure passwords, gramps.

Point is, I could've gotten ahold of them if I'd decided to get creative.

Or, just asked to use the hospital phone. Yeah, that would've made more sense.

I just hadn't thought this could _actually_ be the end.

Oh, how wrong I was.

And so I cried, and cried, and cried, for what felt like several hours straight. My throat felt raw and my eyes itched. I only stopped when I was physically too tired to cry anymore.

There was nothing I could do. No matter how I cried and screamed and threatened poor afterlife employees, in the end I was still dead and tears don't wash away regrets. They would stick to me like an especially stubborn piece of gum stuck in my hair, and I had a feeling even when I came to a point where I could swear up and down I'd gotten it all out, I'd stumble upon a nasty surprise while brushing my hair.

More than anything else, I hated how powerless I really was, how little control I ultimately had over my life. It just wasn't fair. Hey, God, why did I have to die?

It's not like I expected an answer, since I highly suspected there was none and people died randomly every day without rhyme or reason because the world was just cruel that way, but it hardly ever hurt to ask.

And then I realized that wasn't quite right. I wasn't dead.

Sad and regretful and angry, small and selfish and bitter I certainly may be, but alive all the same.

And wasn't it better to be alive? At least now I had another chance at life. Another chance to maybe not screw up so bad, or make some sort of impact on the world, and hope to _God_ my luck would be better this time around.

And so I fell asleep, rocked by the woman that was now my mother, the tears drying on my cheeks, with the knowledge clear in my mind that, at the very least, I was _alive_.

* * *

Over the next year or so, I figured out a lot of things. Since I couldn't wallow in self-pity and powerless raging forever, I turned my mind to figuring out exactly what kind of world I'd been dumped in. First things first, right? I had to live here now. Might as well get used to that.

Some of the things I figured out were rather mundane. The fact that my name was now Fujimi Ukiyo (in last name, first name format, because that was apparently how they did it here), for example, was useful knowledge, but not earth-shattering. New life, new world, new name. That made sense.

Other things were . . . well, to put it very mildly, let's just say others things made far _less_ sense.

So, my father. For starters, he was a ninja. As in, dress in black, crawl in the night, Japanese feudal era assassin type _ninja_ , only hopefully less stereotypical. I figured this out when, as I closely listened to their conversations, I picked out the word. After the gleeful realization that hey, I actually understood something (and who _doesn't_ know what a ninja is?), my brain processed the implications and I was left utterly dumbfounded. It made a certain amount of sense, once I connected every piece of the puzzle, even if the concept of 'my father is a ninja' making sense in any other context than a Halloween party was utterly surreal.

But it did. He often came home smelling of blood and sweat, and I saw him numerous times cleaning triangular knives and shuriken at the dinner table. That made a chill run through me. He'd grin when he saw me looking, and raise a knife for me to look at more closely. He was strangely pleased by my interest in those things, although he couldn't have known it was because I was trying very hard to convince myself they were merely props. I was eventually handed a rubber 'kunai' when I started teething. It was deeply unsettling.

My father, Fujimi Yomaru, a ninja. My mother, Fujimi Sekai, also a ninja. Guess what career they had in mind for me? If the toys I was given were any indication, these people were all about continuing the family business. The words 'normalization' and 'how on earth is this appropriate' floated through my mind as I stared at the mobile above my crib, which had shuriken, kunai, and patterns based off the five elements (including electricity, though I didn't think that was a _real_ element) delicately hovering around a swirly leaf-looking thing in the center.

That we were a clan, I picked up soon afterwards. I noticed early on the white banner with a kind of purple stylized flower on it that hung prominently in our living room. My mother and father's clothing had the same crest on the back. As I learned from a picture book and my mother's animated explanations (mostly consisting of pointing and incoherent gibberish), it represented a stylized branch of wisteria. It was pretty. All my shirts had it on the back, though, which I thought was just a tad on the nose. But alright, I could get on board with that. Clan, ninja, okay, it couldn't get any weirder than that, right?

Right?

 _Wrong_. We lived in a village populated with other ninja. A ninja village. Setting aside the issue that I had this image of ninja as silent, solitary assassins stalking the night in black clothing, and so the idea of a whole village full of them threw me for a loop, I saw things I could scarcely bring myself to believe I was actually seeing with my own two eyes. People jumped from roof to roof, walked on walls, fought with absolutely incredible physical prowess, and, I kid you not, spat fire. Like, _from their mouths_. Like _dragons_. All of this I'd seen firsthand on excursions through the village my mother took me on before I could even walk, so unless there was something definitely not child-friendly in my bottle, these people had actual superpowers.

So I began to think. If both parents were ninja, and could do that kind of stuff . . . and they seemed to be encouraging me towards that path . . . then maybe I had superpowers too?

I mean, the thought made me _giddy_. Who doesn't dream of having superpowers? Could I fly? Breathe underwater? Become invisible, control lighting and read minds like the X-men? Could I be a dragon? I liked dragons.

Needless to say, I had high expectations. If anything good was going to come out of this shady reincarnation business, then there were far worse places to get thrown into than one that came prepackaged with superpowers. I tried some of the more obvious ones, like telekinesis, telepathy, and that walking up the wall trick, but all I got for my troubles was a laugh from my mother when I went cross-eyes glaring at colored blocks that refused to budge and a few bruises on my bottom from falling repeatedly. Alright, still too young. I could wait a while longer.

In the meantime, I learned to recognize the other clan crests; the Nara, Hyuuga, Uchiha, Yamanaka, Akimichi, Aburame, Sarutobi, and a bunch of others through the same picture book that contained our own. I didn't think my mother expected me to understand when she talked and pointed; more like she was introducing this knowledge as early as possible so it'd become ingrained as I grew up. Same as with the kunai and the toys; present it as a fundamental part of the world, and children with their tiny brains and no sense of reason will absorb it like a sponge. This is what the village is like; this is what our clan is like; kunai are nothing to be afraid of; ninja are awesome; shuriken are playthings! Even my flimsy knowledge of psychology was enough to understand basic conditioning.

The thing was? It _worked_.

As I picked up more and more of the language and the picture books my mother read told tales of courageous shinobi who battled bad guys, protected emperors, rescued princesses, and thwarted traitors by miraculous feats of magic and strength, the more my admiration for them grew. I saw how the village was created by a hero, the First Hokage, and how he'd ended decades of brutal war; the Third Hokage, as his successor, was a wonderful leader and everyone looked up to him. Ninja were powerful; ninja were wonderful; ninja were admired. The bloody kunai my father cleaned stopped looking so frightening. I found myself trying to throw cardboard shuriken at the tree in our backyard before I could take more than two wobbling steps. I turned through the picture books avidly, for hours on end, trying to figure out the secret behind those powers and relishing the amazing shinobi tales.

What made it worse was the attitude my parents took. My interest for things ninja-related was met with delighted looks and attention from my mom and pats on the head and smiles from my dad. He had the day off one time and spent it playing with me. He demonstrated shuriken throwing, spat a little stream of water he coiled into a mini dragon, and showed me basic martial art moves I imitated in a childish, clumsy way, kicking and punching the air with a high-pitched _hi-ya,_ until I lost my balance and fell backwards onto the cool grass. He picked me up and walked right up the tree with me in his arms, and dangled me upside down from a branch. It was _cool_. I shrieked with laughter and demanded, with babbling words, for him to do it over and over again until I got tired and clonked out.

Since I was learning to speak at a normal rate for a child, they hadn't figured out I had above-average intelligence for my age. I never cried, though I pretended (admittedly, kind of awkwardly) to be in pain when I bumped into things. They'd found that peculiar at first, but now they seemed to just take it in stride. I kept my condition carefully hidden, employing every tactic I knew to minimize injuries and make sure I wasn't accidentally harming myself. I performed daily body checks, avoided touching my eyes, and carried the rubber kunai everywhere to avoid giving in to the temptation of chewing on my fingers, tongue, or lips because my teeth made me so damn uncomfortable. There were times when I wanted to cry in frustration, because it was hard to keep track of everything when my body was small and got tired from thinking too much. I tried to keep myself distracted and away from any temper tantrums, but sometimes I had to lie down on the floor and not get up until the feeling of wanting to scream and thrash around dissipated.

I couldn't help getting injured. I bumbled around on shaky legs and grasping hands, being a toddler and all. My mom watched me carefully though, and whatever small injuries I got disappeared very quickly. I scratched myself in my sleep sometimes, and the little spots of blood on my sheets puzzled my mother. I finally figured that they must have healed overnight. It was nice to know God was holding her end of the bargain.

I didn't want my parents to know I couldn't feel pain. I didn't want them to stop showing me fun things, or start treating me like I was made of glass like my other parents had done. I _liked_ being tossed in the air, trusted with (unsharpened) kunai and allowed to fall like a normal kid without someone rushing at me to check for broken bones. I wasn't about to ruin that.

And all the while, there was this voice at the back of my head that said, against all logic and reason: wouldn't it be _great_ to be a ninja?

I wasn't _really_ a child. I knew I was probably being fed a watered down, prettied up, sugar-coated and bow-wrapped version of reality. But still. _Superpowers_. My parent's attention and affection. The world's admiration. These were tantalizing enough to override the faint alarm bells I still heard when I remembered those children sparring with live weaponry.

But that was a problem for future me. I mean, how old would I have to be until they decided to actually start teaching me how to ninja? Eight? Ten? Twelve? In any case, not my problem yet. I had enough on my plate with the learning to walk and talk stuff. And keeping my condition hidden.

I was maybe, oh, one and a half years old when my mother went back to work. From then on, I saw a lot more of my father as the two traded off working and staying home with me. He would have guests over sometimes; people from other clans, mostly, during which I either played by myself in the living room or sat on his lap and scribbled stuff with a crayon held in my chubby fist. A lot of what they said I didn't get, but I picked up words here and there. I always listened carefully, and I was learning quickly. It was during one of these visits that the teenager sitting across the table, with sharp, slanted eyes, a scar on his face, and black hair in a spiked ponytail (looking very much like a pineapple) said,

"She takes after you, doesn't she?"

I paused my artistry and looked up, staring at him with puzzled eyes. He looked slightly surprised at the directness of my gaze.

My father laughed and ruffled my short hair, which was as white as his own. Our eyes were also the same shade: light lavender, like the wisteria we took our name from. "Sure does, doesn't she? She's going to be a great kunoichi."

My heart swelled.

* * *

I turned two years old, and I could walk and talk some more. I knew more about the village now. I could babble what I wanted to say most of the time, and enjoyed more complex picture books. At the moment I was reading one on the Hokage. He was a great man, the book said, called 'The Professor' and 'The God of Shinobi.' I wondered how strong a person would have to be to be called a God. I'd met a God (well, her employees) so I was doubly curious.

On one occasion I got to see the man himself. My mom had taken me on a walk to the Academy, a schoolhouse attached to a huge, round, and red building with a kanji on it I was told meant 'fire.' He was standing in front of the school gates, in red robes and with a weird conical hat, a short, kindly looking man starting to see the effects of age, with a pipe and a warm smile. He didn't _look_ very godly, I thought as I stared up at him, but he exuded this sense of wisdom and calm power that I'd never seen before. I sincerely felt that this was a person who could lead and inspire people, even though I hadn't spoken a word to him in my life. It was very strange. I supposed this was the kind of person one would call a 'God.'

I also had the distinct feeling he wouldn't make me sign any weird life-altering contracts, but that was just a conjecture on my part.

He watched the children stream into the school for the start of classes, and nodded gravely at my mother as we passed by. She bowed deeply and I copied her.

"Mama, Hokage?" I said as we walked away, arms swinging by my side.

"Yes, Ukiyo-chan, that was the Hokage."

"Ninja?"

Mom nodded emphatically. "A very strong ninja. Oh, look, here's another strong ninja." She stopped and waved. "Sakumo-san, how are you?"

I looked ahead. Then up, at the man we'd come across. He had a mass of silver hair, black eyes, and wore that greenish jacket lots of ninja had, including my dad sometimes. The lines around his mouth told me he laughed a great deal, and he smiled widely as he stopped to chat, returning the greeting.

"Sekai-san! Haven't seen you in forever, how've you been? I heard you're back on the regular roster. Where's that kid of yours Yomaru's always bragging about?"

Mom laughed. "It's good to be back! Sorry, Yomaru must've been talking your ear off. Here we go," she picked me up and sat me on her hip. "This is Ukiyo. Say hi, Ukiyo-chan."

I waved and babbled, "Hi."

The man laughed and leaned forward, taking my little hand in his and shaking it delicately. "Hello to you too. She's awfully cute!" He looked down over his shoulder. "Kakashi, why don't you say hi too?"

"Don't wanna."

A voice came from behind the man's legs. I looked down, and saw a kid holding himself away from view behind his father.

"Don't be rude," Sakumo stepped aside and nudged the reluctant kid forward. "You two are the same age. You'll be in the Academy together. Why not make friends?"

The child he unveiled shared his father's gray hair, only his seemed to defy gravity a little more. I couldn't tell much about what he looked like, given that half his face was covered in a black mask. His eyes, though, had the dopiest and most bored expression I had ever seen on another human being, and that included the glazed eyes of a poor office worker who's just sat through a three-hour power point presentation on administrative database optimization. Basically, he looked up at me with complete disinterest.

I decided I did not like this kid.

I turned my head away to huddle into my mom's shoulder, but she put me down and gave me a little push. I don't know what either of these people were expecting. We were _two_ , for crying out loud. Did it look like we'd have much to talk about?

So I crossed my arms and stared at the kid. Upon closer look, something odd struck me.

I'd met a few children my age before, in the streets, or when my dad's visitors brought their spawn along. They hadn't made much of an impression. Overall, while curious and eager to meet the world, they didn't have much depth of emotion or thought and _boy_ did it show. This kid felt . . . _older_ wasn't quite the right word. The quick glare he shot his father showed how he wasn't really happy being forced to socialize, and something in the way he looked at me made me think there was a lot more going on in his noggin than he let on.

I tilted my head, curious. I figured I might as well try and break the ice. Hey, I was also smarter than my age. Maybe we could get along?

"Hi," I said, waving. "I'm Ukiyo. Your name?"

He just _stared_ right back at me. I started to flush as more time went by without an answer. He might be smarter than a two-year old, but his social skills were definitely limited. Sure, my phrasing might've been awkward, but at least I was _trying_.

"Kakashi, don't be shy, say hello!" His father finally intervened.

I did _not_ think shyness was the problem here.

With great reluctance, the boy spoke. "My name's Kakashi. Nice to meet you." And he bowed stiffly before running back behind his father's legs. The man patted him indulgently on the head and laughed.

"Ah, sorry about my boy, he's not good with strangers."

"Don't worry about it! Our Ukiyo's a bit strange sometimes too. Children their age can be a handful." My mom said. I crossed my arms and sulked. I glared at Kakashi. He ignored me.

"I know, I can never get Kakashi to talk to new people. He's very smart, but I'm afraid he won't be able to make friends once he starts at the Academy."

Mom nodded sympathetically. "That must be hard! I'm sure he'll grow out of it eventually. As for Ukiyo-chan . . ." She hesitated. "It's very strange," she added in a confused tone. She looked down at me. "I don't think I've ever heard her cry."

"Never?"

"Never. Oh, except for one time when she was very little. Of course, she falls and bumps into things, but even when she's frustrated or hurt, she doesn't cry. I've never seen her have a tantrum either. It's the strangest thing."

The man looked at me for a moment, and blinked a little quizzically. I avoided his gaze my burying my face in the folds of my mom's kimono.

"I supposed that _is_ a little strange," he said pensively.

We parted ways soon after. As I walked by my mom, I looked back over my shoulder at the two I'd just met. Kakashi was now talking much more animatedly at his father, who was chuckling with a sheepish look on his face. The kid still didn't have much visible expression on his face, but his eyes didn't look like those of a dead fish anymore.

The memory of being snubbed was still fresh when we got home. For the first time, I felt frustrated about being unable to express myself. If only I could talk better, I could have called him out on it, told him how rude he was being.

I hadn't made a concerted effort to learn the language before now, content to go along with the flow and learn as my parents spoke. No more. I was going to learn these darn words.

Easier said than done, I thought as I stood on my tiptoes trying to reach a book I thought might help. Finally, with some climbing involved, I reached it. I took it over to my mother and held it up.

"Read?" I asked.

She took it, smiled, and patted her lap. "Sure. Come on up."

I climbed the couch and settled on her knees. It was going to be a long road, but I wouldn't have to do it alone.

* * *

The response for the first chapter was wonderful! Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed.

Ukiyo's name is written 浮世, and means 'floating world' or 'transient world,' hence the title. You may have heard of uikyo-e ('pictures of the floating world') which was a popular art form during the Edo period in Japan. Her last name is written 藤見, and can be translated as 'wisteria viewing.' That being say, she would commonly write both in hiragana for convenience.

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	3. In Which a Chance Was Missed

When I was a little less than four years old, for the first time, I was taken to the park and set loose. It was a hot and humid summer day, but the many leafy trees cast lots of cool shade, making the park a very nice place to spend the afternoon. Usually I would bring a book or something to play with and stick close to her, but this time my mom sat on a bench, took my bag away, and gave me an encouraging push.

"Go on, Ukiyo-chan. Go play."

I stared at her like she was crazy. She did not stare back, and instead opened her own book. This went on for a minute or so. Finally I took her continued silence as my cue to leave, and walked away into the strange, wild, uncharted territory that was the neighborhood playground.

I paused and looked out at the park, anxious for the first time in literally years. There were numerous other kids around my age, and lots of potential activities, but I didn't even know where to begin. How do kids play, again? I couldn't remember ever playing unsupervised, let alone in public parks with millions of opportunities for me to get myself cut, bruised, scrapped, burned, stung by insects, trip over rocks, fall, or catch some infection from the kids whose parents didn't believe in vaccination.

But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I decided to figure this thing out. How hard could it be? It was just a stupid playground. As long as I avoided the kids playing with live weaponry, there was nothing here likely to kill me. Kids with far less life experience than me played their little hearts out without a care. I should be able to find some way to kill a few hours.

And so I resumed my foray into the unknown.

There were swings, but it didn't look like my feet would reach the ground and I pictured myself wriggling on the seat, kicking uselessly at the air, so that was out. There was a slide, but a bit of a line and I didn't feel like interacting with other children just yet. In the open space near the little forested area, there were kids engaged in group activities; I recognized tag, a form of cops and robbers, and other various children's games, but that was a bit closer to the flying pieces of sharpened metal than I wanted to get.

I ended up walking around the playground for a bit, destabilized and bewildered. It was noisy and shrill and hot, and everyone seemed to already have their own circle of friends, or at least no misgivings about going up to strangers and starting a game out of the blue. I guessed it was easy when you were a child with no sense of social awkwardness; just go up to someone wearing a shirt in a color you like, say 'let's play Mary Mack' or 'check out this frog I found' and it would be the beginning of a beautiful lifelong friendship.

The thought of doing that, as an adult socialized to pull out every stop to avoid speaking to strangers (I liked the headphones strategy), was both weird and, frankly, a little creepy.

But I still had to do _something_.

I came across the sandbox. No one there, at least. I gathered up some sand and let it fall through my fingers. It was warm from the sun, but the deeper layers were pleasantly damp and cool.

I smiled. Yes, this would do.

I ran back to the bench and dug a wooden kunai out of my bag. I figured it'd be better than a stick. For lack of anything else to do, I squatted in the sandbox and set about digging a hole.

It was a nice hole. Eventually I hit the bottom, which was about a foot and a half down. I straightened up and wiped the sweat off my brow, admiring my handiwork. There was sand in my pigtails, the sleeves and folds of my short yukata, in my sandals, between my toes, and underneath my fingernails. I thought there might be some on my face, too. The amount of displaced sand on the side was impressive. I was actually proud of myself. I wasn't so bad at being a kid after all. All I needed to do was . . . whatever felt like it would be most fun at the moment! I could do that. Hadn't I just dug a very nice hole? And for good measure, I was about to dig another.

I stuck the kunai into the sand, preparing for my next masterpiece.

Suddenly I got the feeling someone was staring at me. I looked to the side to catch that dead-eyed kid I'd met a while back (bigger, of course) looking my way. I remembered him, still a little irked by his behavior back then, but he'd been a toddler and those are notorious for 'the terrible twos' so I didn't bear him much of a grudge – it would have been silly to resent a _two year old_. He was with a group of other kids his age, who moved past him as he stopped to look down at me. He seemed thoroughly unimpressed. His eyebrow rose.

Kakashi left without a single word. I stared at my hole, face turning red, feeling very stupid and self-conscious for no reason I could really name.

But no, I thought with some anger, I wasn't stupid, I wasn't even _four_. One of the glories of childhood, I realized, was the ability to do whatever wacky thing you wanted without people staring at you like you were a creep. Objectively, a thirty something year old digging holes in a sandbox for hours on end was just weird. But a four year old? Perfectly acceptable. If anything, it was that other kid who was weird for looking at me like I was crazy.

But upon checking my hands, I saw I'd gotten blisters on my palms. Digging with a kunai was not exactly efficient. Better to stop for now. Since digging holes was a blast, I decided to go out and see what else there was.

I looked over and saw the slide was free. And discovered slides are _fun_.

I proceeded to slide down at least a dozen times.

Flushed and excited, I spied a roundabout.

I spun on the roundabout until I kind of felt like throwing up; went down the slides a few more times; tried the swings, but no, definitely too high, I couldn't even hop onto them without a good deal of flailing about. I tried the monkey bars, but I didn't have enough upper body strength yet and fell after only two. I hit the ground pretty hard. The impact knocked the wind out of me and I landed funny, but a quick inspection revealed no broken bones. Grinning, I tried again, this time landing with both feet. I straightened up with my hands out for balance. No problem at all.

This was fun. The jungle gym was next. Or maybe I should try the bars I'd seen kids doing acrobatics on? But the slide was so fun! My eyes gleamed as I thought about the possibilities.

Why weren't adults allowed to have playgrounds, again?

The slide was occupied so I went the roundabout again. I spun it as fast as my little legs could make me run, jumped up and let myself fall onto my back. I watched the sky spin overhead, the voices and cries and screeches of kids fading away, white clouds like cotton balls blown overheard by the wind, and thought about being a child again. There were boring and humiliating and frustrating parts; but the freedom to run around and play without a care in the world was most certainly not one of them. For the first time in years I didn't have any responsibilities; nothing urgent to take care of, no bills to pay, no job to go to, no stress, no deadlines, no work, no pressure. Sure, there were physical limitations, and things like bedtimes and having to eat vegetables I could have sworn I loved before but that were just horribly bitter now, but that was nothing when compared to dealing with customer service or having to grind my teeth on my tax return.

It was basically like one long extended vacation, though admittedly one I'd been forced to take. It was _nice_. It was a bit unsettling to know that I literally had _nothing_ I needed to do, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it would end someday, but I was alright with that. I was already an adult after all. Growing up had been . . . unpleasant the first time around, but I knew what I was in for and I could handle it. In the meantime I would just enjoy the pleasant, child's life I'd been thrust into.

I _was_ getting tired though. All that excitement and running around was _exhausting_ and I hadn't had a nap today.

The sun was starting to dip anyway. I figured my mom would want to head home soon, so I ran over to the bench where she'd been reading. I looked around for a minute, but didn't see her. On the bench was my backpack and nothing else. Mom was gone.

I stood there, confused. Where had she gone? Had she gone home? If she had, why hadn't she told me? I couldn't make sense of it. I knew there was no way she'd actually abandon me. She'd be back to pick me up. She must have seen how much fun I was having and decided to go shopping, or get started on dinner. She hadn't told me because she knew I could be trusted on my own.

I just had to wait for her to come back, and everything would be fine.

I gathered my bag and went to sit by the junglegym. The day was winding down, and kids were getting picked up and taken home by their parents. I sat on my own and waited.

I remembered I had snacks I was supposed to eat. It was hard to remember, since I didn't feel hunger pangs. I was really tired though, enough that my legs were trembling a bit, and hunger might have had something to do with that.

I pulled out the box of onigiri and set it on my lap. I ate one and the familiar taste of salmon and rice filled my mouth. I sort of felt like crying. No, no, I wasn't about to cry. I was just tired. I was a child. Children get tired easily.

I didn't feel like eating anymore so I put the box aside and hugged my knees to my chest.

The park was empty now, but out of the corner of my eye I saw someone coming near. Kakashi came to a stop a few feet away.

"It's getting dark," he said. "When are you going home?"

I shrugged. "Whenever my mom comes and gets me."

"When's that?"

I shrugged again and turned my head away.

With a quick leap and a few agile moves he'd climbed to the top of the junglegym. He looked out into the distance like I wasn't there anymore. I realized I'd been a bit rude to him, so I tried to spark some kind of a conversation.

"Do you come here often?" I asked.

After a beat, he replied, "I live near here."

"No kidding? So do I."

He looked down at me like I was stupid. "I know. We're neighbors."

That made my head snap up. "Really?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know?"

"Well, I've never seen you around, so . . ."

"We live on the same street. We see you guys all the time. When you go out for walks and stuff, you pass by our front yard."

"Huh. Small world." He did not dignify that with a comment.

"Is your dad coming?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I remember him. He looked like a nice person."

"Hm." Kakashi grunted in response. I wasn't one to fill silence by small-talking to someone who didn't want to answer and I didn't have anything else I wanted to ask, so I settled in for a quiet spell.

Then he abruptly said, "You remember him?"

I glanced up at him. "Yeah?"

"Nobody remembers stuff at that age."

" _You_ do," I pointed out.

He seemed to consider that food for thought. Enough that he didn't say a word until his father swung by to pick him up. Sakumo waved at me as they walked away, pretty much the same as I remembered him from two or so years ago, and Kakashi shot a final, slightly quizzical look at me over his shoulder but didn't otherwise throw out so much as a parting word.

I was left alone on the playground.

Seriously, where did my mom go off to? I wanted to go home now. I knew the way to my house, but it was a long way away for a child, and I was _tired_.

I remembered my hole and went back to check on it. It'd been filled in already. I sat by the side of the sandbox and scratched hiragana characters in the dirt with my wooden kunai. My name. I drew a family of three, me in the middle, parents holding my hands on both sides. And then I added two more figures, bigger than me. And one more adult.

I stared at the childish drawing of my family. I'd been several years, but I still felt pangs in my chest when I thought about them. It had gotten better over time, as grief tends to do. Honestly, I couldn't even remember what they looked like. Or what _I_ had looked like, beyond basic details like 'my hair was dark' and 'I was kind of short.' When I thought 'parents' my mind automatically furnished the faces of those two people in strange clothes with strange colored eyes who loved me instead.

I wondered what those other people were thinking now. And whether or not they still resented me. The thought of that was terrifying.

I erased the additional figures, so the picture was back to three.

"Ukiyo!"

I heard my voice being called and looked up. A smile split my face.

"Papa!" I yelled as I ran over to him. I caught a glimpse of his tired, worn-out face before he swept me up in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Mama had to go away on a mission today and won't be home for a while."

Dad had been out of the village and was only supposed to come back tomorrow, so I was delightfully surprised to see him here, but his clothes were dirty and rumbled, and a cut had stained his sleeve brownish red. Had he rushed back?

"I'm fine," I said. "I played lots today. I dug a hole, went down the slide, and spun on the roundabout."

"That's good, Ukiyo. Get your things, we're going home."

I got my bag and dumped all my stuff in it. He picked me up and I clung to him like a koala as he carried me home. In the sunset-lit streets, I dozed off, feeling safe but with a nagging edge of doubt on my mind.

Why had my mom left so suddenly? Couldn't she have taken me home first? What could have been so urgent she'd leave me behind? How could she do that?

I couldn't get it out of my head, so I asked.

"Papa, why did mama leave?"

I heard a sharp intake of breath. A moment stretched before he answered.

"Mama was . . . They needed mama for a mission only she could do."

"Who's they?"

"The village, honey. The village needed her."

"It was important?"

"Very important."

"More important than me?"

Dad was silent. After some time, he said, "Ukiyo, you want to become a ninja, don't you?"

I hummed my agreement.

"Well, ninja have to do everything they can for the village. When you become a ninja, you'll understand."

I couldn't wrap my mind around that. It was what parents always said when they didn't want to explain: 'you'll understand when you grow up.' But I was already grown up, in my head at least, and I could understand far better than he gave me credit for. If becoming a ninja meant sacrificing everything, including your children, then I wasn't sure I wanted to become one.

"Ukiyo, mama and I both love you very much. That's why we want to protect the village, so you can grow up to protect it too. That's part of what being a Konoha ninja means. Do you understand?"

I didn't. I absolutely didn't. Adult mind or not, the concept was completely alien to me, and when I started to consider the correlations of absolute, unquestioning loyalty to a village, I scared myself so badly I had to stop thinking altogether.

"Yes," I lied in a small voice.

* * *

When mom came back, she apologized profusely and made it up to me by buying me more books and taking me out to a fireworks festival. It was a beautiful summer evening. I got my face sticky with cotton candy, and I caught a goldfish at a booth that I set free in the canal on our way home. Her leaving me by myself was never mentioned again.

I went to the park quite often, and played my little heart out; once I'd gotten over my initial social awkwardness, I sometimes joined various groups of kids in their assorted games; the rotation of neighborhood children was extensive, and so were their tastes. I soon figured out that one game that was extremely popular was 'playing ninja.' It was basically cops and robbers, with the addition of cardboard shuriken and kunai. No actual live weaponry, thank God for that.

Kakashi frequented the park, but we didn't run in the same circles. He had his own friends. I wasn't too put out by this, because his aloof attitude and occasional condescending glances made me feel like an idiot for acting like a kid. Running around pretending to be a ninja, digging in the sand, swinging as high as I could – I enjoyed all that. Being a kid with no responsibilities was _fun_. But every so often, I would catch the odd disbelieving, or even disgusted look he shot my way. Like that time I ate a bug on a dare. Or let the group bury me in sand. Or when I jumped off the swing at the high point and went sprawling face first in the dirt, tasting grit.

Every so often our groups would mingle for a mass game of tag, hide-and-seek, or kick-the-can. Kakashi approached every game with a kind of self-important seriousness, like this silly childish pastime deserved every ounce of his skill, and inevitably won. It was infuriating, doubly so because no one else seemed to notice his attitude. Kakashi was wildly popular among the kids, who could not stop blabbering on about how _cool_ and _fast_ and _strong_ he was. He took it in stride, and though he never boasted (openly at least), he projected this aura of self-assuredness I couldn't believe hadn't already transformed into an inflated sense of his own importance. No, Kakashi was just plain good at whatever he decided to do, and knew it. Honestly, it felt like _he_ was the adult trapped in a child's body, not me, and what that said about my own attitude wasn't flattering. Should I be spending more of my time studying? Should I _really_ be spending my time playing around? I didn't like feeling bad, so I generally avoided him in general and ignored him when we were placed on the same team. On and on, the strange looks kept coming my way.

One time, he brought a thick book to the park and sat by himself reading it. Curious, one of the kids wanted to investigate and dragged me along. When we looked over his shoulder, the girl exclaimed that she couldn't understand, and how it was amazing that Kakashi could read already blah blah while I mumbled something in agreement even though I could read it perfectly well. It was a history book on the five great ninja villages. I had the exact same one, actually.

It might have been my imagination, but I could have _sworn_ the look he shot me, and only me, over his shoulder, the raised eyebrow and slight gleam in his eye said _'what, you really can't read something this simple?'_ He snapped the book shut and walked away.

It wasn't like I slacked off on the academic front, especially for a kid my age. I split my time between reading and writing practice, some basic exercises my parents showed me, and playing at the park. It seemed a given I would take the Academy entrance exam next spring, and I wanted to get into shape as fast as I could. Who hadn't wished they could go back in time and hit their child selves upside the head for not continuing with lessons of some kind (piano; I wished I'd continued piano)? My motivation for performing daily exercises, I had to admit, had a little less to do with 'it'll be useful later' than the sheer joy at the idea of being able to eventually perform the splits, stand on my hands, or do a backflip, none of which I'd been capable of before. Heck, even a cartwheel had been too much for me. I wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

I practiced at the park as well, when no one was around. I got banged up some, but nothing that didn't heal in a day or so.

That was the strangest thing. God had kept her word. I healed fast. Small bruises and scratches, which were all that I had sustained so far, disappeared far quicker than they ought to. It made me wonder how bigger injuries might fare, but I was terrified of injuring myself on purpose and having my incapacity to feel pain discovered so I didn't experiment.

One day soon after I'd turned five and winter had come around, nobody was at the park yet so I decided to store my stuff near the benches and practice for a little while. I ran around the park once to warm up. Then I stretched every part of my body carefully, paying attention to how the stretch felt so as to not pull my tendons too far and injure them; arms, wrists, shoulders, hips, calves, hamstrings, and back. This was doubly important because I was afraid of having issues with my joints, _again,_ and hey, maybe stretching could help with that too? It was supposed to be good for you anyway, which was why so many people decided doing yoga in weirdly clingy pants was the right course of action.

Once I was satisfied with that, I went up to the monkey bars and practiced swinging, trying to get as far as possible before the inevitable fall. I didn't really get very far. My upper body strength was still abysmal. My hands slipped, I landed heavily and rolled to my feet, brushing dirt off my knees. I did that over and over again, until I fell particularly heavily on my hand and my wrist twisted awkwardly under me.

I got to my feet and checked it. I shook it experimentally. It was a bit stiff. It wasn't broken or anything, but a bruise was forming. I might've sprained it, but I couldn't really tell. Oh, well, whatever.

I went back to the ladder to start over.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

I froze with one hand on the ladder. I turned around to see Kakashi coming up behind me. He wore his usual plain, dark gray clothing, with the addition of a long scarf wrapped around his neck that trailed down to his hands.

"Hi Kakashi," I greeted him politely.

"I saw you fall on your hand. Doesn't it hurt?"

I glanced briefly at my wrist. The bruise was definitely starting to show, and it was swelling a little. I surreptitiously hid it behind my back. "I didn't fall that hard. I'm fine," I said.

"You've been falling wrong since you started," he said in a bit of a condescending tone.

"How do you fall correctly?" I said. "You're just _falling_ , there's no right way to do it."

"Yes there is. You have to fall right in order to disperse the impact and avoid injuries. Otherwise you'll get hurt. Like you just did."

Okay, now I was annoyed. This was why I didn't want to practice when others were around: avoiding the running commentary. Okay people, not a circus show, nothing to gawk at, now _go away._

"Not that it's any of your business, but I did _not_ get hurt."

He raised his eyebrows. "Try doing that again, then." He challenged, pointing at the monkey bars.

I glanced up. And shrugged. "Sure."

I bunched the sleeve into my hand to hide my wrist and climbed back up. I grabbed the first bar with both hands and let myself hang. I swung and grabbed the next. And the next. I reached again but lost momentum and my hand slipped. I hung with one hand, the injured one.

"Bend your knees!" Kakashi called as I slipped.

Without thinking, right when my feet touched down I bent my knees and hit the ground a lot less hard than I usually did. Huh. I'd never thought of doing it like that. Maybe that was why I'd had joint problems before. It wasn't a mystery that I had issues with posture – simply put, I didn't shift my weight when a position got uncomfortable and that put a lot of strain on my joints – but I hadn't thought about how that could affect other movements, like falling.

I looked over at him.

He nodded, arms on his hips. "Not bad."

I dusted my knees off and scowled. "I knew how to do that."

Kakashi rolled his eyes. He held out his hand. "Let me see it."

"See what?"

"Your wrist." Faster than I could blink he grabbed my sleeve and pulled up my arm, exposing my swelling and very purple wrist. I snatched it back.

"You sprained it," he said.

I rolled my eyes and tucked my hand into the pocket of my yukata sleeve. "Obviously."

"Why did you climb back up, then?"

"Because you dared me to."

"That's a stupid reason to do anything. Especially to hurt yourself. You should get that looked at."

I shrugged somewhat noncommittally and crossed my arms. He seemed to decide it wasn't worth arguing with me anymore.

Further exercises would only make him more suspicious of me now that he knew I'd injured myself, so I decided to quit while I was ahead. I went over to the swings and kicked off lightly, not going very far up. Kakashi sat on the one next to me, but didn't do anything. We stayed there in silence, me swinging, him not, until he turned to me and said bluntly,

"Why do you pretend to be stupid?"

I dragged my foot on the ground and came to a stop. I stared at him for a moment, absolutely gob smacked by his directness, and answered,

"Why are _you_ so rude?"

"Don't answer a question with a question," he said, eyes narrowing.

"I'll answer however I want. Maybe I _am_ stupid. You don't know me."

"You're not stupid." He said that with all the finality of a child who's reached a firm conclusion on a particular problem, and never mind the reality behind it.

"I'm glad you think that," I muttered. I didn't even think 'stupid' was the word he was looking for. Maybe 'childish' or 'silly' or 'carefree' might come closer. He was wondering why I was acting like a kid, even though he'd somehow decided that I was, like him, more mature or advanced than my years. That didn't make sense to him, because I didn't act like he did, hence I must be 'stupid.' I wasn't sure how he'd come to the conclusion he had on my mental acuity though.

So I decided to ask him. "What makes you think I'm pretending to be stupid? We've interacted like, three time? I don't count playing as interacting, by the way. All we've ever done is existed in the same general area, you can't know anything about a person just from that."

He shrugged. "Just something."

Yes, that _was_ a sufficient explanation.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Have it your way."

It's not like he was _wrong_. I definitely acted a lot more childishly than was natural for me, and sometimes it was a bit hard to play along. I mean, I _was_ in my thirties mentally. It was a bit hard to follow conversations with my playmates sometimes, because the logic of children was just weird; ever tried talking to a kindergartener? I swear one time a three year old girl went on and on about something having to do with deer and umbrellas and I could not for the life of me understand what she was getting at. Their interests flitted from one brand new shiny thing to the next so quickly I got conversational whiplash, and they were prone to the most irrationally capricious and jealous behavior. Just the other day, two boys had gotten in a spat over who had tripped the other first; now to _me_ , they'd just fallen on each other during a race and it was darn obvious. But they hadn't spoken to each other since. A kid had claimed to have gotten cooties from a girl in our group, which her friend did not appreciate one bit, and the resulting fight had knocked his front baby tooth out.

So it was definitely hard not to rip my hair out sometimes. I generally responded by walking away and doing something on my own until it all died down. I also didn't actually _talk_ that much with the kids, and I didn't consider any of them my friends. I played with them because it was fun, but they were years away from becoming interesting conversationalists and surpassing the emotional maturity level of an especially bright puppy.

I just wanted to run around and play without getting involved in drama, and that apparently made me stupid in Kakashi's eyes.

"There's no point in pretending to be stupid," he grumbled. "It makes no sense." It sounded a lot like ' _you_ make no sense.' He kicked at the ground and in no time flat he was high in the air. I sat quietly on the swing. I was a kid. Nothing wrong with doing kid things.

* * *

A month before the entrance exam, I woke up feeling like something was very wrong. There were voices coming from the living room that I didn't recognize. My dad's came clearly, though in the daze of half-sleep, I couldn't grasp what he said. I sat up in bed, blinking the sleep away and pushing my bangs out of my eyes. The late winter sun came, dazzling, though the window. A ball of anxiety grew in my chest as I went over and looked out at the budding tree with the swing my dad had built last summer. The voices didn't stop.

I didn't especially _want_ to leave my room, but a strange impulse made me move. I pulled my clothes on and walked down the hall.

I froze in place in the doorway, and stared at the scene before me. As I took it in, the black ball of anxiety dropped from my heart to my stomach.

My dad sat at the dining room table, hands covering his face. There were three other people there, one dressed in black with gray armor and a painted mask; one other I'd seen before, the young man with the scarred face and black pineapple hair; the last was a man I didn't know, but who wore the standard ninja attire. He held a red scroll in his hand.

The conversation stopped dead when I appeared. I stared owlishly at them. My dad lifted his face, and I saw tears muddling his eyes. My gaze darted; from the tear tracks, to the man in the mask, to the scroll I saw had the Konoha emblem on it, to the stricken faces of those looking right at me.

Nobody said anything, but I knew.

I turned around and walked back to my room. I sat on my bed. I felt completely numb. The sun was bright and a bird chirped, sounding far off like I was surrounded by a thick cocoon made of water.

And that was when I put my finger on why exactly I felt so regretful over the circumstances of my death. It was the same reason why I now felt like I was going to cave in and be swallowed up by the pit opening up inside me.

I'd loved my family. I really had.

And I'd loved my mother.

I'd never gotten a chance to tell any of them.

* * *

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Peace out.


	4. In Which a Resolve is Found

Fujimi Sekai died in the line of duty during a transportation mission. Her body was recovered and delivered to the Medical Corps. We were not allowed to see her. After the autopsy, her remains were cremated and buried in the communal cemetery. Her name was inscribed on the Memorial Stone.

The funeral was a small affair. I was dressed in black clothing and we went to pay our respects to her grave. There were a few people there, other ninja mostly, including the two men who'd delivered the news. My mother had been well-respected as a jounin of Konoha, but had not known many people outside those circles.

I placed white and violet flowers on the grave and went back to my father's side, where I stood silently while he received condolences from the visitors. I stared at the sky above. It was a nice early spring day. There was the smell of plum blossoms in the air, and not a cloud. I looked around me.

I thought, _'There are a lot of graves.'_

* * *

My dad wasn't the same after that. He spent a lot of time just sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands. He was given leave to grieve, but I thought that was counterproductive. It just left him with nothing to do but think and remember.

I couldn't stand being in the same room as him. The sight of him sitting there with a blank look on his face and the silence that pressed down on our home were suffocating. I began to spend much more time outside, leaving as soon as I woke up and only returning when it started to get dark. I stopped going to the park, instead favoring the library where I could sit and read all day without being questioned. The idea of facing people, having them look me in the eye and ask what was wrong put a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn't slept well since my mom died, and there were deep circles under my eyes. I was exhausted. But I couldn't sleep at night. I'd doze off at the library, only to sit up in a panic when some dream of a life gone by and people who'd cared about me while I ignored and took them for granted flashed through my head.

I didn't want to think about any of them. I didn't want to think about _anything_.

So I studied.

I was able to read comfortably now, and had a dictionary on hand for things I couldn't; when I put my mind to it, learning new things was a piece of cake. Bitterly, I thought that remembering a past life was of _some_ use. I'd ended up with the mental focus and analytical capacity of an adult and the cerebral plasticity of a child. Even though I honestly wished I didn't remember any of it.

There was no rhyme or reason to what I looked up. I just wanted to occupy my mind. It's not like I had a goal in mind, or had anything better to do with my time. My head felt full of jumbled thoughts and images fighting for headspace with feelings I didn't want to acknowledge, and the only way I could slam the lid on them was by using new knowledge as brain filler. And of knowledge, there was an almost infinite amount to be discovered. This was a completely different world than the one I'd originally lived in.

After a few days of mostly pointless and aimless browsing, in a scroll that caught my eye in the children's section, I learned about the chakra. The basic concept was laid out to me clearly with simplified diagrams and relatively easy words; it was meant for a mid-level Academy student, but I could read it easily by now. Chakra was like energy, and flowed through one's body in a network similar to the nervous or circulatory system. It was comprised of spiritual and physical energy in different proportions, molded in the core of one's body and channeled into techniques using hand signs, of which there were twelve. All of a ninja's techniques, called 'jutsu' were done with chakra.

The word sounded familiar. I leaned backwards in my chair, balancing on the back legs and rocking a little. It was at the tip of my tongue. I knew I'd heard it somewhere. Chakra . . . chakra . . . yoga . . . Hinduism . . .

Oh my God.

I jerked up, lost my balance, and the chair fell back with me in it. I hit my head on the floor and just laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling, wanting to smack myself a few times with a baseball bat. Why, oh why, had I turned down the offer of both a great chakra supply and great chakra control? Either one of those would have actually been useful. I was truly an idiot. An unredeemable idiot, in life and in death and back in life again. Such an idiot _death_ didn't cure me and by God that had to be saying something about the sheer level of idiocy I'd managed to attain. I'd transcended regular mortal idiocy to become an idiot on a cosmic level. Why couldn't I have taken the boy at his word and just taken what he'd offered? Mental note: the next time someone with far more knowledge and power than you have (read: GOD'S REPRESENTATIVE) offers you a perk to make your life easier in a new world you know nothing about, what do you say? You say no, because you're an idiot.

I silently groaned until the librarian came to check on me and I had to stop lying on a tipped chair wallowing in self-pity. This wasn't just about me turning down hugely valuable abilities; I couldn't seem to do what was right, both back then, and now. I just kept blundering my way onward because I got too wrapped up in what I was feeling. I'd been resentful of my family, so I'd left; I'd been upset at my reincarnation, so I didn't stop to rationally consider what I was being offered. I'd taken my mother for granted, and she was gone. So yes. An idiot I was.

But those thoughts were just the kind I was trying to avoid, so I stamped them back down, into the mental jar conveniently labelled 'FEELINGS – dangerous do not open' and went back to my readings.

There were instructions for molding chakra, which involved meditation, and some basic control exercises. The rest of the theory was interesting, though I quickly determined it wouldn't be of much use for a beginner. I copied the instructions for basic chakra molding down on some paper and returned the scroll to its shelf. That piece of paper was shoved in my pocket, and promptly forgotten about. I had no desire to try and sit alone with my thoughts for a few hours in the _hopes_ that I might somehow manage to summon magical energy. My childish excitement over it had faded somewhat now that I knew the reality behind it – and I didn't have it in me to get it back right now.

I read about basic ninjutsu and how to perform them; Transformation, Substitution, Clone; a bit about the five types of elemental jutsu, though the detailed stuff used chakra principles I understood in theory, but was not physically able of reproducing; the fundamentals of genjutsu; the village's special Kekkei Genkai, though these were stated and not detailed; the process for becoming a genin, then a chuunin, then a jounin. I studied the maps of the village; the surrounding forest; the various clan compounds. I read a treatise on medical ninjutsu; a story about the Sannin; about how the Second Hokage had founded the Academy.

In a month, I learned more about the village and how ninja worked than in my whole five years of existence. This world was vaster and more complex than I had ever imagined, and I'd only scratched the surface. I had a feeling it was much darker than I realized; as I read about missions of assassinations and thievery, world wars (two of them) mentioned nonchalantly in passage, tales of ninja who'd started fighting even before they'd hit puberty (with no mention of how disturbing that was), detailed diagrams of the human body showing which areas were vital and which were merely flesh wounds . . . it went on and on, and when finally I tried to find out the government structure of the village, I was so gob smacked I had to sit back and give myself room to process.

I lived in an authoritarian regime. An actual, live, real, authoritarian regime. Oh, it wasn't _described_ that way; it only stated, almost matter-of-factly, that the Hokage was the village leader, was a ninja, was not popularly elected, and made all the decisions. The villager's main trade, economy, and military strength derived from using its (trained) population as mercenary forces. Essentially, the shinobi forces (the military) held all the power. I lived in a stratocracy, a government headed by a military chief, a junta. As someone who'd been brought up to believe in the principles of democracy and elections and freedom and all that jazz, and that mostly thought of a dictatorship as something that happened in far off places like, North Korea, or Africa, or South America, this was just _surreal_. It meant it was very likely only members of the military (i.e. ninja) were able to enter the upper levels of government. Why would civilians be trusted with the administration of a system that was fundamentally based on military power?

Basically, that leaf headband _got you places and not all of them were good._

I was mortally embarrassed at how naïve I'd been, so much so that I ducked my head down into my book to hide how red my face was. Of _course_ reality wouldn't be that rosy. I course there was something more to it, and frankly even what I knew now was only common knowledge and easily accessible by reading the right books and making the proper connections – I mean, it's not like people didn't know the Hokage called all the shots and the shinobi forces controlled everything – for them, this was a fact of life. What else could there be that I didn't have access to? There was an entire wing of the library off limits to civilians. And even then, there were probably different levels of access based on rank and security clearance. Far beyond a five year old girl not even an Academy student.

What was I supposed to do with this information? On one level, it made me think that going down the path of a ninja seemed like a really stupid idea. Or, if not stupid, at least dangerous. There was no telling when a war might break out, or I might be sent on a mission one day and come back in a body bag. I didn't want to die. By God, I didn't want to die. But on the other hand, I _lived here now_. The village wouldn't become less messed up if I ran away screaming and lived the rest of my life as a powerless civilian, which, by the way, was a thought that offended me to the very core of my being. I hated the idea of doing nothing while the world floated on its merry way and I had no control whatsoever over my fate.

But all of this was way too complicated. I hadn't come here to think, I'd come here specifically to kill my thoughts and bury my feelings. Honestly, if I'd had access to alcohol I would've gotten black-out drunk more than once by now.

Unpleasant truths and shattered illusions weren't the nicest things to occupy my mind with, and I considered that what I'd just learned fully warranted a night of bad Merlot, a dumb sitcom, and a pint of cookie dough ice cream, but only one of those things actually existed here and it wasn't the thing I most wanted.

Unfortunately, there was no time to resolve my mixed feelings over this ninja monkey business. The entrance exam was right around the corner, and I was already signed up for it.

After a whole month, my dad was feeling better too. The way he looked at me when I walked through the door the evening before the entrance exam, a pile of books under my arm and deep circles under my eyes, was guilty and sad. He hugged me tightly, and made dinner while I read a geography book.

He gave me tips and pointers as we ate, but they went in one ear and out the other. He was far too animated, talked too fast, and was really only trying to fill the silence between us. Eventually, as I didn't respond, he stopped and we ate silently.

"Ukiyo," he started, trying again, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate. "You know your mother loved you, right?"

I nodded. My throat felt tight.

"She would've been proud of you no matter what. What we want most is for you to be happy. So if you ever change your mind about becoming a ninja, whether now or in ten years, we'll support you. _I'll_ support you."

I swallowed with difficulty, and said, "I know. Thanks, dad."

I had to make a choice. Being a ninja had killed my mother. It was dangerous. The village was not as it seemed, and I might end up going down a very dark path. But still . . .

We finished our dinner.

* * *

On the day of the exam, I walked to the Academy and stood among the crowd in front of that huge red building with the symbol for fire on it. There were kids I recognized from the park, including Kakashi, who was speaking to an excited girl with short brown hair and purple markings on her cheeks. As she spoke she turned to a third boy, an Uchiha dressed in blue with funny-looking goggles, who joined the conversation with enthusiasm. Kakashi's eyes slid to me, paused for one moment, and then passed right off as his attention moved on. I turned away.

There were cherry blossoms all around, sending delicate petals on the wind, and the sun was warm. There were maybe eighty-ish kids in all, talking up a racket as we waited to be let in. I was really curious what kind of exam they would be giving five and six year old children – or what their criteria even were for a good prospective ninja.

The time came and we were ushered into the building and divided into classrooms. I sat at a desk in the back and looked around. The room was amphitheater style, large, with a high ceiling, and a huge blackboard and desk slash podium for the teacher. But most of all, the windows were big and let the sun stream in. The overall impression was warm, inviting, and I could see myself spending the next few years rather comfortably in here. I'd certainly been in darker, more miserable classrooms in my lifetime, and the well-maintained and designed appearance of this one put me at ease somewhat. I'd half-feared we'd be stuck in a concrete building with bars on the windows and moldy, graffiti-covered desks, smelling like shoes, rust, and lemon scented disinfectant. You know, elementary school.

"Good morning, boys and girls," a woman spoke from the front pulpit. "We will now start the written portion of the entrance exam. You have one hour. Please turn in your paper as you leave the room."

Proctors, ninja in the standard attire, handed out the tests along with pencils and erasers. When the clock struck nine, we started.

It was pretty basic. First-year elementary level questions, a section with simple math, a multiple choice reading comprehension (which used no kanji and very simple), a few logic questions, a role-playing section (what would _you_ do is your cat was stuck up a tree?). Essentially, they were testing, along with basic reading/writing, problem solving and analysis skills. It was easy for me, but I kind of thought it wasn't fair to judge children on abilities they couldn't have acquired or developed yet. And what if a certain kid hadn't learned to read? Not everyone was precocious.

After the written test, they had us run around the courtyard. I highly suspected any kid who couldn't complete the required five laps was out of the running already, and there were a few of them.

Then there was a physical examination. Weight, height, temperature, pulse, blood pressure, respiration rate, etc. They had a ninja there whose white eyes with bulging veins scanned the children as they moved up the line. The effect was distinctly bug-like, and more than a little off-putting. If I remembered correctly, she was a Hyuuga, with the Byakugan which could see chakra. I remembered what I'd read about chakra networks. Were they looking for defects?

Since there were only three doctors and a lot of children, the line to the curtained sections was long, and very boring. I rocked back and forth on my heels until it was my turn. The doctor examined me, made notes on charts, and though I tried to peek I was whisked out of the room and through a corridor to a door in front of which several children already lined up.

I settled in for another round of waiting. This one was relatively short, though, as each child only spent a few minutes in the room before coming out and being directed by a waiting proctor to the courtyard. A few more kids joined the line after me as their physicals were completed.

Soon, it was my turn and I was ushered into a different type of classroom, one with no desk aside from the one standing smack dab in the center, at which sat that kindly looking man in the funny hat whose face looked out every day from the mountain cliffside, flanked by two ninja standing at attention. The man had his fingers steepled on the desk, and something about the way his hat hid most of his face, leaving his piercing eyes surrounded by wrinkles to look out at me over his fingers, made me think of a carnival seer's tent. I could picture the purple drapes, crystal ball, and smell of incense in the air. Was he going to tell me my fortune, or decide it?

"Hello," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

I did as I was told and sat quietly, returning his very direct stare, hands folded on my lap and back straight. The feeling I'd had when I'd first seen him was there; a kind of reverence that made me automatically sit up and listen closely.

He broke his stare first to look at the paper in front of him. There were three stacks, one to his left, two to his right. One of those was noticeably smaller than the other.

"Fujimi Ukiyo," he enunciated each syllable very clearly. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the Hokage, sir," I answered.

He smiled, and it was warm. "Indeed. Now, Ukiyo-kun, I have a single question for you. This will be the last test on this exam. Take your time to answer. Are you ready?"

"Yes sir."

He turned the full force of his stare upon me. "Why do you wish to become a shinobi?"

A half-baked answer wouldn't do, not in front of this man. And frankly, taking into account the little I'd learned about the village and all that might be hidden, I had to stop and think about this one.

Why _did_ I want to become a ninja? I still admired them, even after learning they weren't all they seemed (superpowers – didn't stop being _cool as beans_ ), but then again I admired a lot of things – artists, divers, Andrew Hussie, accountants, glaciers, Beyoncé, whales, Beethoven, whoever wrote The Wasteland – without necessarily wanting to _become_ them. My interest had been fostered mostly by the sheer awe at the idea of magic powers and the attention it got me from my parents. And now I knew it wasn't that simple, and one of them was dead.

But I still had one parent – my dad was alive, and I knew he looked forward to my becoming a ninja, never mind what he said about quitting if I wanted to. What impression I'd gotten from him, as a singular shinobi inside a much larger system, was that a ninja was someone who protected _something_ – a village, I supposed. I'd once made a career as an administrator, working in the upper levels of the mayoral office, because I cared about changing the city I lived in; because I saw the flaws and decided they could be fixed.

Love wasn't rational. Even in my previous life, as I saw how corrupt the government and the city I worked for really were, I'd never stopped being fond of them. There were my _home_.

There were many things about this village that rubbed me the wrong way. How my mother had been called upon so suddenly she'd abandoned me in the park; the way I'd seen children fighting with knives at such a young age; the government structure, the way it was run; the beautiful image that had been presented to me that for sure hid _something_. But I lived in this village now, whether or not I liked everything about it. I'd grown to care about it since I was reborn. So naturally I wanted to be part of it and change what was wrong or didn't work.

That resolve came to me quite clearly now that I needed to give a frank answer. I wasn't about to throw up my hands, go, 'it's too dangerous for me' or 'it's impossible,' and bury my head in the sand like an especially stupid ostrich. No, I was going to bulldoze my way into this world and figure out exactly what needed fixing, and exactly what I needed to do to fix it. I was still afraid of dying; but in life, sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith. It might be hard, it might be long, it might be dangerous, but I believed it was worth doing and I was capable of doing it.

After all, I was an extremely capable executive assistant.

And if for that I needed to become a ninja, so be it.

So I answered honestly, "I want to become a ninja because I live in this village and I want to make it even better. I know nothing's ever perfect, but it's my home and I want to help protect it."

* * *

I walked out into the courtyard and stretched my arms to the sky, standing on my tip-toes. I heaved out a great sigh and relaxed. Results would be in this afternoon, and it was currently around noon. A couple hours to kill. I had a lunchbox, lovingly prepared and packed by my dad, that I fully planned on enjoying by the shade of that nice tree over there.

I whistled as I sauntered my way over, only to stop dead in my tracks. That spot was taken. By three kids I recognized. With a feeling of dread, I wondered if Kakashi was going to be a thorn in my side for the rest of my life.

He was always just . . . well, _there_. Honestly, it was starting to become uncanny. I knew we were kind of neighbors and all, but there had to be some sort of limit on how often one person could pop up in someone's life before said person started to seriously consider the idea of some kind of heavenly stalking. Then I realized that, if I looked at it objectively, I didn't _run into_ Kakashi that often so much as I _noticed_ Kakashi when I did. That was a whole other kettle of fish. It did make sense, in a way. Kakashi . . . kind of stood out. It might have been the mask. Which was also the exact opposite of what a mask was supposed to do, when I thought about it, so figure that one out for me.

In any case, I couldn't exactly kick them out of the (absolutely ideal remind you) lunch spot. So I sat on the grass and ate resentfully like it was the rice ball who'd wronged me and not a kid with dopy eyes, hair like a gray haystack, and a (again, _absolutely_ unnecessary) black mask.

As I ate I noticed a boy running around the courtyard. He was the only not eating or chatting with other kids, and he was going at it with impressive gusto, so he sure stood out. Once he finished his lap he dropped and began to do one-handed pushups at an admirable rate for a Crossfit enthusiast, let alone a five/six year old. His face had an expression of sheer determination and almost scarily intense focus. His greenish, sleeveless bodysuit and red scarf were dirty and worn, and I noticed his hands were covered in scabs and cuts.

He also had very large eyebrows. They were verging on being majestic. Like two, very bushy, wings adorning his face.

Entranced, I watched him, forgetting my lunch. A few other kids whispered behind their hands as he worked out, and some laughed outright. When he went into a handstand to do pushups, his arm buckled and he went sprawling on the ground. The laughter rang out, along with some unkind words. But the boy got to his feet, flipped back into the handstand, and finished the set. That seemed to be the end of his workout; he went over to an unoccupied corner of the courtyard and sat by himself, ignoring the jeers that were still thrown his way.

Well now, that was just peculiar.

It didn't look like he had lunch, even though he had to be hungry after all that. I remembered my sisters always shoveled food in their mouths after a particularly intense skateboarding session. Yes, after exercising was when people got hungry. It made sense, I supposed. I could only tell I needed food when my legs turned to jelly and I couldn't focus anymore, and I'd never actually _done_ a strenuous workout, so I wasn't the best person to ask, but evidence suggested a correlation between heavy exercise and appetite.

I looked down at my lunch box. I'd only eaten about a third of it.

I got to my feet and approached the boy. Only when I was about two feet away did I realize I had no idea how this interaction was supposed to go. I blinked rapidly as he looked up and we stared at each other. It occurred to me that I hadn't thought this through at all, and also, I was an idiot.

I knelt, placed the lunchbox within reach, snapped to my feet, nodded gravely, and ran away as fast as my five year old legs could carry me. Only once I was safely past the courtyard gates did I slow down and realize, that was my favorite lunchbox and I sure couldn't go and ask for it back.

I crouched down and buried my burning face in my hands.

Thirty-three. I was thirty-three years old. This should not be happening. This was some sort of cosmic joke, wasn't it?

I bet God was laughing her ass off at me.

* * *

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	5. In Which Crying Happens

My dad came to the unveiling of the results. A signboard was posted in front of the Academy with the names of those who'd made it. It was awfully crowded and neither of us could see from all the way in the back, so he lifted me up high and I squinted at the columns of names. I scanned down the list (spotting Kakashi's name as I went – not exactly a surprise) and a few rows down, saw my own name.

I double checked to be sure. It was my name, Fujimi Ukiyo, in neat black characters, one of thirty-four who'd passed the exam.

"Ukiyo, can you see it?" My dad asked.

I nodded. Once he'd let me down, I turned to him and made a triumphant peace-sign. 'V' for victory. And grinned.

Dad broke out in this huge, proud smile. He picked me up and spun me around. "That's my girl! I just knew you'd make it! I'm so proud of you!" He put me down and ruffled my hair, his face the happiest and most luminous I'd seen in a month.

I laughed as my heart swelled. "I want ice cream for dinner! Strawberry ice cream!"

"Anything you want, sweetie. I'm so, so proud of you. You're going to be great, you know that? I just know it."

I grinned up at his beaming face, true happiness welling up inside my chest.

Dad's eyes met someone else's across the crowd and the pure joy on his face toned down somewhat. He waved a hand and said, "Sakumo-san! How's it going?"

I turned and saw Kakashi and his father, that tall silver-haired man with the laugh-lines and kind smile I'd seen a few times before. The latter smiled and returned the greeting, although it seemed a little forced.

"Hello, Yomaru-san. We're doing fine, thanks. Oh, have I introduced my son yet?" His hand fell onto Kakashi's head in a pat that squashed his hair. "This is Kakashi. I hope Ukiyo-chan will be his friend at the Academy."

"Nice to meet you, Kakashi-kun." Dad nodded to the kid and turned back to Sakumo. He cleared his throat. "My . . . my wife told me they've been playing together in the park. I'm sure they'll keep getting along."

Well, I didn't think we 'got along' so much as 'ignored each other unless forced to interact,' but I wasn't making statements here. I didn't meet Kakashi's eyes and instead fixed my stare somewhere forty degrees to the left.

Sakumo's smile faded. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and said after a silent moment that noticeably dragged on, "By the way, about Sekai-san . . . I'm truly sorry about what happened. And for not attending the funeral." I clutched at my dad's sleeve and tried not to listen. Any elation I'd felt had dissolved and threatened to rub at that rawness inside my chest that had come back full force. "If you need anything, don't hesitate. My wife passed when my son was very little, so I know what it's like. So if there's anything I can do . . . watch your kid, or get groceries, or anything at all . . . you know where to find me."

I tried my best not to listen and not to process any of those words. I really did not want to hear any of this. I didn't want to be reminded. I grasped at the sleeve of my dad's haori and hid my face in the fabric. I couldn't hear. I couldn't.

Suddenly I felt a presence close to me and peeked out through black folds. Kakashi was right there.

"Do you want to go play?" He asked.

I blinked. ". . . Sure."

"It's okay, right?" Kakashi said to his father.

Sakumo seemed to remember we were here. His eyes snapped to us, and his mouth twisted in a smile that seemed guilty. "Oh, right, yes. Of course."

"Come get us around dinnertime," Kakashi ordered.

I looked up at my dad and he nodded with a faint, sad smile. He gently patted my head. "Go play, Ukiyo. Take your time. Come home when you're done."

With that out of the way, Kakashi grabbed me by my sleeve and took off running. I followed after him and didn't look back.

* * *

We ran far, longer than I expected, his little hand never letting go of me, down a crowded market street rife with food smells and booming merchant calls and the buzzing of a whole mass of people, across the narrow alleys of a quiet neighborhood with no other life but that of a tabby cat yawning on a sunlit wall, all the way to a large park I didn't know that faced a canal and was pleasantly cooled by a breeze coming off the water. It had a large clearing fringed with trees and a few wooden posts in the middle. I didn't stop and admire it because as soon as we came to a halt and he released my sleeve I had to lean over and catch my breath. I gulped down air, hands braced on my knees.

Kakashi set his hands on his hips and frowned at me.

"You'll never make it in the Academy if you can't even run this far."

I glared and straightened up. "I _can_ run this far. I _just did_."

"You're completely out of breath," he pointed out.

"Not so out of it I can't talk," I replied, but had to shut up and keep wheezing. I coughed. It wasn't painful, so much as it was uncomfortable and I did _not_ like it.

Kakashi rolled his eyes and jumped onto one of those posts. He sat and folded one leg under him.

I stared. He'd really just jumped up like it was a completely normal, average, everyday thing for a five year old to be doing. It had to be at _least_ five feet high. How high could _I_ jump? Not that high, no sir I most certainly could not. There was something patently unfair about a kid my age being able to hop around like some kind of human kangaroo. Wasn't there a law of karma that prevented this kind of thing?

Then it occurred to me that he might've just gotten it when his soul was reincarnated; put down something like 'extreme innate physical aptitude,' but I didn't see how he could've bought that _and_ 'superior intelligence.' Although, given my situation I wouldn't put it past the afterlife offices to make a dumb mistake and reincarnate some lucky shmuck with all the abilities in the book.

God, life really wasn't fair.

"What's with the glare?" He asked. "And after I helped you out, too."

"How did you 'help me out?'" I said with exaggerated finger quotes.

"Your mom died, didn't she?" He said abruptly.

I went stone-silent. He kept talking.

"It must have been a month ago, when you stopped coming to the park." He crossed his arms and nodded, half to himself. "It's obvious."

I seriously wanted to hit him. But that would be immature. I sat on the ground against one of the other posts and hugged my knees to my chest, burying my face in my arms so at least I didn't have to look him in the face.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Kakashi said.

"I don't have anything to say to _you_." My voice came muffled.

He sighed. "That's rude."

My head shot up. "You're the rude one. Why makes you think you get to talk to me about this? It's none of your business! Stop butting in! I didn't need your help, and I don't want to talk to you! I don't want to talk about anything, so don't talk about my mom like you know anything at all!"

"My mom's dead too," he said calmly.

My hand twitched. He stood up on the post and fiddled with a kunai he'd had hidden somewhere on him. His eyes looked pensive as he spun it. "It was a long time ago, so I don't remember her. I don't think about it much." He snapped the kunai straight in his palm and looked down at me. "But you do."

I bit my lip and nodded. I honestly wished I didn't remember anything. Not my previous life, and not my mother.

"Don't forget. It's not fair to the dead if they get forgotten, and it's not fair to the living either. The dead have things they wanted us to carry on for them, so we've got to make sure we protect what they left behind. Like the Will of Fire. At least, that's what my dad says."

I angrily wiped away the tear forming in my eyes. "Will of Fire?" I asked.

"It's the will to protect the village and all the people in it that gets passed on to each new generation. My old man's always blabbing on and on about it. It gets annoying after a while, but I understand what he's saying. Everybody protects the village, and everybody gets protected. I think the dead people who had the Will of Fire want it to be carried on by the living. Your mom probably thought that too. If the dead get forgotten, who's gonna carry on the Will of Fire? Who's gonna protect the village? You're gonna be a ninja of Konoha, so you have to carry it on in your mother's place. That's why you can't forget about her."

My lip trembled and I bit down hard, only to taste blood and remember I shouldn't do that. My chest hurt so bad I almost couldn't breathe. I took deep, gulping breaths, trying to keep the heavy beading tears from falling.

"I want to forget," I choked out in a small, wrung-out voice. "It _hurts_."

"Duh. It's supposed to hurt."

"I don't _want_ it to hurt!" My voice cracked.

"It'll stop. Eventually."

The tears were actually falling now, great drops rolling down my cheeks as I heaved stuttering breaths and hiccupped, wiping frantically at my face to make them disappear.

"What am I supposed to do, just wait?" I yelled. "Just grin and _take it_?"

He gave me that _look_ , the one that had made me dislike him in the first place, like he was utterly unimpressed that I was missing something so obvious. It made me feel like such an idiot.

"It's like a cut, or a bruise. It hurts for a while, then it goes away."

That wasn't helpful at all!

But I couldn't chew him out because I was outright bawling by now. And here I'd thought that one episode when I was a baby and learned of my fate had been the last bout of hysterics I would have to deal with. I didn't like facing my feelings. I didn't want to admit to myself that I missed my mom, and wanted her back, wanted her to smile and pat my head and say she was proud of me. I wanted to show her I'd made it in the Academy, and when I graduated I wanted to show her my shiny new headband. But she was gone now and I hadn't taken the time to appreciate her, just like when I'd left my family behind.

I didn't want to admit that I was sad and regretful and lonely. In that moment, I truly hated Kakashi, from the bottom of my heart stone-cold _hated_ his guts for making me go through this. It was such a waste of time and it _hurt_ , and when it hurt it felt like it would last forever.

It didn't, though.

Eventually, I cried myself out. The tears slowed down and the sobs lessened. My face felt hot and sticky. I was so tired I could've lied down and slept until nightfall. The pain in my chest was dull. The tears soon stopped completely. I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve. I felt hollow and drained, but oddly, I felt better too, like a weight had lifted off me.

Kakashi jumped down from the post and stood over me.

"You look awful," he said matter-of-factly.

"I've been wanting, _sniff_ , to say this for a while, but," I wiped at my face and looked up at him. "You have no tact whatsoever."

He rolled his eyes and pointed at the canal facing the park. "You can wash your face over there."

I got to my feet and hiccupped, wiping a fresh wave of tears. My vision was blurry to the point that the world was nothing but a collection of colored splotches. God, this was absolutely awful.

He sighed, in a way he probably thought was indulgent, but was just condescending. "Guess it can't be helped. I'll lend you a hand. Here." Blurry and watery though everything was, I made out his outstretched hand.

"I d-don't, _sniff_ , need your h-h-h-help!" I sobbed. I was half-blind and stumbled ahead towards where I knew the canal was.

Another sigh, and my hand was grabbed. "Don't be stupid. You'll trip and fall and then you'll cry even more."

"No I w-w-won't!"

"Yes you will. There are stairs, and even if you don't fall on your face, you'll fall in the water and drown."

"I can swim!"

"Yes, yes. We're at the stairs. Hold on to the rail."

My grasping hand was directed to the fuzzy gray line that was the stair rail. I went down three broad steps and stumbled a little. He guided me over to the water.

I gathered water in my cupped hands and splashed a liberal amount on my face. Icy spring water trickled down my neck, into the front of my shirt, and plastered my bangs to my forehead and stray strands of hair to my cheeks. I don't imagine it made me look all that better, but the chill felt nice on my burning face. My drying and sticky tears were washed away.

It was a real relief.

I stood up and wiped my face on the dry portion of my shirt.

"How do I look?" I asked Kakashi.

He stared me in the face for a moment. "Blotchy," he answered.

I ground my teeth. No. Tact.

But I still rolled my eyes and smiled slightly. He was tactless, kind of condescending, and didn't seem to be interested in much. I shouldn't expect him to lie to make me feel better. But this kid meant well, at least.

I decided I could live with that.

I went up to him, placed my hand firmly on his shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye. His eyes snapped briefly to my hand.

". . . What are you doing?" He said, confused.

I nodded solemnly and proclaimed, "We are now friends."

One of his eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"

"You've seen me bawl my eyes out and dribble snot all over myself. I'm afraid I can't let you go. You're stuck with me now." I grinned. "Sucks to be you!"

I clapped his shoulder, nodded once more, and walked back towards the park.

"You . . . _what_?"

I skipped up the broad steps and looked back down where Kakashi was still rooted by the canal, pure bafflement on his face. It was the most expressive I'd ever seen him. It was a better look for him. Made the eyes look a little less like a convincing imitation of a dead fish.

I stretched and sighed deeply. I felt a lot better.

Finally Kakashi got a clue and followed me, albeit reluctantly, with hands in his pocket and his face averted. I decided he was bashful. Given that half his face was covered, there was a certain amount of interpretation (okay, a _liberal_ amount) required to read his expression.

His cheeks were a bit red though – showing just above the line of his mask. I snorted out a laugh.

"What's so funny?" he grumbled.

"Your face," I answered frankly.

He sighed, and it was tired. I added that to my growing catalogue of 'ways Kakashi expresses emotion.'

"This was fun, but I'm gonna go home now. I'm beat." I also sort of felt like crying again. Just a little bit. "I'll see you at the opening ceremony."

"Oh. Okay."

I bounded down the steps and waved. "Bye!"

I waited for him to wave back before putting my hand down and leaving. It took him a few seconds, but he got the message. We'd make a proper socialized boy out of him yet.

As I walked down the street, two familiar looking kids ran pass me. The brown-haired girl and the Uchiha I'd seen at the entrance exam. New classmates of mine? I stopped and watched them run up to Kakashi, and start to talk excitedly.

"Kakashi, Kakashi, we all made it! We'll all be in the Academy together!" The girl exclaimed.

"I'm gonna beat you for sure once we start classes and I awaken my Sharingan," the boy said. "So watch out Kakashi!"

"Yes, yes," he said, putting his hands in his pockets, and looked away. Our eyes met across the distance.

I smile wryly, waved again, to which his hand twitched slightly in response, and turned on my heels. Those two looked so happy to report their success to their friend. I wasn't about to spoil that. I'd get their names some other time – we'd be attending the Academy together; plenty of time for introductions later on.

I walked back on my own. The roads were starting to clear as sunset approached, and the shops on the market street were mostly closed or soon would be. I strode on the line between the growing shadows and the light, and paused to watch a black cat cross the road. Which way was bad luck, again? I shrugged and went on my way.

Finally I was back at the Academy. I stood silently in front of that tall red building with 'fire' written on it, with that front entrance proudly bearing the kanji for 'shinobi' and the leaf symbol over it. There was a tree there, with a swing.

I didn't feel like going home just yet.

I sat on the swing and kicked lightly at the ground. I stared for a long time at that building, so long that the sky turned orange and violet and the air turned gold, thinking about what it represented and what Kakashi had said.

The 'Will of Fire,' he'd called it. I didn't really know what it meant; I had no frame of reference. Was it yet another part of this world with a hidden underside?

Had my mother died for it?

Was _I_ going to die for it?

' _No,'_ was my immediate thought. _'I'm still alive. I died once, but I'm still alive. I won't let anything bring me down. I'm going to keep on living, move forward, and become a shinobi. My body won't stop me, and neither will anything else.'_

I stared at my hand. It was funny, but it felt weird that there weren't any scars. I couldn't really remember what my body had been like in my previous life, but I did remember the accumulation of injuries, on my hands especially. Cuts, burns, scrapes, it seemed like there was a never a moment without a bandage or Band-Aid of some kind. But here, I'd managed to spend my early childhood without mutilating myself by accident, and whatever injuries I'd incurred had healed quickly, without a trace. My fingers were intact, my eyesight was fine, and I didn't have any scars to speak of. That was a good start.

My mother was gone, though. It stung, but not as bad as before. I actually felt like the pain would disappear someday. I wasn't sure the regret ever would, though. Not the regret over her death, nor over mine.

But I'm alive, I repeated to myself. My heart is beating. If I only remembered that, I'd be just fine.

I'm alive. I'm alive.

* * *

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Peace out.


	6. In Which Ukiyo is a Realist

A/N: It looks like there were some issues with notification emails for the last chapter, so if you've subscribed to this story and missed the chapter in which Ukiyo does a whole lot of crying, go back one chapter and read it.

* * *

The entrance ceremony took place a week later. I sat in my chair in the auditorium, vibrating with excitement as the room filled in with my future classmates. I swung my legs, happy as a clam. I could hardly suppress my grin.

I'd never been to an entrance ceremony – they weren't really a thing where I was from (graduation ceremony, maybe). Heck, I'd never actually completed a year of elementary school. I'd been pulled out after an unfortunate incident involving some boys and a sharp pencil, and homeschooled for the next twelve years. I was very much looking forward to attending school like a regular kid. And learning ninja stuff? Sign me up. There was no way this wasn't going to be a _fascinating_ few years.

So I hummed to myself and looked around at the people I'd be sharing a classroom with, counting them as they came in. There were a few more than had been announced on the board, which I attributed to a certain number having originally been wait-listed, then accepted to round out the class. Pretty standard practice.

A buzz covered the room as excited and amped up children took their seats. The low stage had a 'Congratulations New Students' banner hanging over a desk adorned with the leaf symbol. It did a magnificent job. I felt very congratulated.

I was in the back and so had a clear view of the class. My stomach flip-flopped in embarrassment when I noticed the green body-suit of the boy I'd given my lunch to. I'd been thinking of striking up a conversation with my neighbor (a girl with a spiky ponytail), but maybe I ought to stay put until I was sure I wouldn't jam my foot so far up my mouth I'd be kneeing myself in the face. I saw Kakashi's fluffy gray head a few rows down, and as she turned to whisper something to him, recognized the brown haired girl with the purple markings on her cheeks. I glanced around, expecting to see the Uchiha boy, but the distinctive red and white fan was nowhere to be found. Was he late, or had he dropped out?

The door closed and the Hokage walked out onto the stage, followed by two men in standard shinobi attire, one of whom carried a stack of manila folders. I immediately snapped to attention, posture rod-straight and hands politely folded on my knees, but the kids went on chattering like magpies, unaware that the leader of the village, their future boss and manager of their lives, was standing smack dab in front of their noses.

The Hokage cleared his throat. It was louder than it reasonably should have been. At once the room quieted down and thirty-six (minus mine) glances turned as one to the old man standing on the stage in ceremonial robes. He didn't look like he'd been offended at all by the initial reception. On the contrary, his smile was indulgent as he looked out over the room.

"First, congratulations to all of you. I trust you know who I am, and if you don't I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. I will keep this brief. You are all bright young minds of Konoha and about to embark on the long, arduous journey of a ninja. Apply yourselves in body and spirit, study and train with diligence and passion, and one day you will be called upon to protect this place we call home. It will be difficult. It will be dangerous. But I have faith that every last one of you will do your best to play your part as the next generation of Konoha Shinobi. That is all."

He tilted his head. We applauded.

"We will now distribute the entrance documents," the man not holding the files took out a clipboard from somewhere. "When your name is called, come up to the front to get yours. These are due next Monday, the first day of class, by five PM. Have your parent or guardian fill them out. Any questions?"

There were no questions, so the roll-call started.

"Uchiha Obito," the man read off as he got further down the list.

Dead silence. Cricket chirps. The man called out again, louder, "Uchiha Obito? Is he absent?"

A murmur spread as the mystery boy failed to show up. He was absent on what was probably the most important day of his short life – poor kid must be so sick he was half-dead. God, that had to suck.

Suddenly a chair clattered as the brown-haired girl stood. Her hand shot up high. "Excuse me, Obito's not here yet." Her voice silenced the room. "I can take the papers on his behalf, if that's alright."

The man frowned and his mouth twisted in a displeased grimace. He looked like he was about to refuse, when the Hokage chuckled and said,

"I'll allow it. Come on up."

The girl hopped out of her row and jogged down the aisle, bowed quickly to the man whose entire face beamed stark disapproval, and took the folder. She turned on her heel, bowed again to the audience and hurried back to her seat. Kakashi was shaking his head at the whole process.

Uchiha Obito was one lucky duck to have a friend like that. I guessed he was the boy with the black hair and funny goggles I'd seen before, who'd said something about 'not losing to Kakashi.' If he planned to back up that statement, he must have something up his sleeve because if what I knew about him was any indication, Kakashi would make a hell of a rival. I sure was planning on steering clear of him, at least in the 'issuing challenges' department, because I had a sneaking suspicion trying to beat him at anything at all would be a splendid waste of my God-given time.

The savior's name was Nohara Rin. She was eventually called up and she promptly fetched her documents, returning to her seat for the second time. Kakashi followed soon after, looked as bored with the proceedings as ever, tucked his folder under his arm and nonchalantly stepped off the stage, hands in his pockets. A few more and it was my turn, and it was with a bit of trepidation, but mostly excitement, that I walked briskly up the stage to receive my documents. And that was the end of that. I hugged them to my chest once I was safely back in my seat, flushed with pleasure. I'd done it. I was actually going to be a ninja.

A few more kids followed; in time, they got to the green-suited boy. His name was Maito Gai, and as he moved to collect his documents I heard voices behind me that whispered (not quietly enough), 'that's the son of the Eternal Genin – he was an alternate' 'so he didn't actually get in? Lame.' Followed by some snickers and a few more unkind words until another voice hissed at them to cut it out. I looked discretely over my shoulder. The one glaring at her neighbors was a girl with tousled black hair and rather stunning red eyes. She did not look happy and neither did the boy sitting next to her – tall, tan, black-haired, with a very strong jaw for a five/six year old, who frowned slightly but otherwise said nothing. The two boys who'd been gossiping shut up with a grumble. Then a name was announced and the girl stood up with one last angry look at her neighbors – Yuuhi Kurenai, she was called.

And then, it was over. Parting words were said by the Hokage, and with a final reminder to 'not be late on the first day of class' (complete with a pointed look to Rin by the proctor), we were set free. I walked to the exit among my new classmates. As we came out I saw a very-winded looking kid standing outside the Academy with the most dramatic look of dawning horror I'd ever seen on someone's face.

Rin dashed up to him and handed him his document with an indulgent smile. He thanked her profusely. Kakashi got in a dig about how he'd never make it in the Academy if he couldn't even get here on time, earning himself a glare and a 'what did you say?!' I watched the skit from a few feet away. It felt very well-rehearsed; like this dynamic was familiar to them.

So he was just late. Now I felt silly for worrying. But it was good that he wasn't actually dying of like, measles or something. They didn't seem to have vaccines here – I couldn't remember ever having been taken to the doctor. Did they even have the same diseases as my world? Who knows, maybe viruses and bacteria had evolved in a completely different way. Not the most far-fetched idea, given that people here were born with an entire alternate energy circulatory system, which was kind of strange if you thought about it for too long. I mean, what kind of evolutionary quirk led to _that_ particular development?

I was zoning out thinking of evolutionary trees, common ancestors, then back to hospitals and immunizations and sanitization procedures (please, _please_ tell me these people knew about sterilization) when someone came up to me. My heart flip-flopped unpleasantly in my chest as a tall boy with very distinctive eyebrows stood before me, face scrunched up with anger or determination, I couldn't tell which. It was the boy in the greenish bodysuit, back straight as an iron rod.

Before I could open my mouth, he bowed a full ninety degrees and proclaimed,

"Thank you very much for your kindness! The bento was delicious!" He raised his head. "My name is Maito Gai. I'm looking forward to starting classes with you. I hope we can be friends!"

For a moment, I was too stunned to answer. Each word was projected with so much energy it felt like they were shouted defiantly from a rooftop.

When I was done picking my jaw up off the floor, it occurred to me that a response was in order. I bowed back, a little awkwardly, and said. "Nice to meet you. My name's Fujimi Ukiyo. Sure, we can be friends."

He grinned and gave me a thumb's up. "Nice to meet you, Ukiyo-chan! Let's embark on this youthful shinobi adventure together!"

Okay, this kid was kind of over the top, but not really in a _bad_ way. I could see how it could get tiring after a while, but I had a feeling he was the kind of person that was just 'extra' and did everything a thousand miles an hour, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. Also, he hadn't uttered a peep about my embarrassing display of my ability to sprint like the devil was nipping at my heels, which must have been rather confusing at the time. A random girl plonks her bento in from of you and dashes away like a madwoman – god, it was amazing he was talking to me at all after that.

I returned his thumb's up with a solemn nod. "I'm not sure I know what that means, but it sounds like fun. Count me in."

His smile was delighted. He pumped his fist.

"Alright! I'm going to go get some training done!"

"Already? But classes haven't even started yet."

He nodded seriously. "I was an alternate, so I've got to work as hard as I can to catch up. I may not have much natural talent, but in effort alone I won't lose to anyone. I'll use every spare moment!"

"I see. Good luck with that, I'm sure you'll do great. I'll see you next Monday!"

"Thanks for the support! I won't let you down!"

I waved at him as he shot off into the street. Right as he turned the corner, he screeched to a halt, whipped around, gave me one final parting thumb's up, and vanished.

It was only after he was completely gone that I remembered I'd forgotten to ask about my bento box. I _liked_ that box.

I sighed and cracked the bones in my neck. I could always bring it up on the first day of class, no big deal. In the meantime, I'd made a friend! A bit of an unusual friend, but he seemed like a nice kid. I wondered what kind of 'training' he had in mind . . . hopefully he wouldn't injure himself right before school started. I didn't think he would like that very much.

I looked around and caught Kakashi's eye. He was still with those other two. He nodded slightly as our eyes met. Obito was still hemming and hawing about something that Kakashi wasn't really listening to while Rin looked on with an amused smile, and it didn't seem like there was much room for me to go up and talk to him. So I nodded back, gave a little wave, and went on my merry way.

On the road back, I thought I saw Gai and an older, more mustachioed version of him dash down the street some ways away, tears running down their faces and yelling something about 'springtime of youth.' I decided to pretend I hadn't seen that, and bought a chocolate taiyaki before heading home.

* * *

Classes started the following Monday. As it turned out, I didn't have to worry about my lunch box; Gai returned it to me right before we went into the building with another expression of sincere gratitude. I took a seat towards the middle of the room and Gai sat down across the aisle from me.

I eagerly awaited our first lesson. Would we be learning about chakra? Battle tactics? How to breathe fire? How to walk up walls?

Haha, _no_. After our textbooks had been handed out and the general structure of the four year curriculum explained (during which I got the inklings of a horrible feeling about how the next few years were going to go for me), our first lesson was . . . reading.

There was one thing I had sort of forgotten about, in my excitement over learning to be a ninja; the fact that everybody here was a child, and there were things one needed to learn before any discussion of advanced ninja techniques could take place. Namely, the very basics. Reading, writing, math. All of which I could already do. I was reading far beyond the level of an ordinary five-year old, even an ordinary five-year old studying to be a ninja, and asking me to solve addition and subtraction problems, honestly, felt insulting.

In fact, on that very first day, as I looked over the curriculum during my lunch break (wanting to cry because I'd just spent _the most boring_ class hours of two lifetimes, and that included a seminar on ecology I'd taken once), I got the ugly realization that there was no reason for me to be in class at all. I was, effectively, wasting six hours of my day learning stuff I either already knew, or could learn easily by studying on my own. Even excluding the basic stuff, there was nothing here that was so complicated I needed to wait to have it rehashed and spoon-fed to me by a teacher. Most of it was rote memorization, which I could handle just fine on my own.

We wouldn't even begin learning the _theory_ behind chakra until six months from now – and only start learning jutsu around the same time. Which meant, at the very least, several more months of this torture.

This was an actual nightmare.

When I figured I'd be going to ninja elementary school I somehow hadn't realized that meant _I'd be going to elementary school._

I felt like I was going to burst into tears. People kept glancing over at me, and I must have been a sorry sight, staring into my innocent rice ball like it was the source of untold despair. My food felt like glue in my mouth. Thankfully, Gai came to keep me company and we talked a bit, which did wonder to distract me – about his dream of becoming a shinobi, a little about his dad, and about the concept of 'self rule' which I didn't really understand.

"A self-rule is a rule you promise yourself you'll stick to," he explained. "So even if you fail, you work on it through harsh training and come back even stronger! For example, I'll say that if I can't run five hundred laps, I'll do five hundred pushups. If I can't do five hundred pushups, I'll do them in a handstand!"

I side-eyed him a little doubtfully. "I'm pretty sure that's not possible . . ."

He grinned. "Maybe not yet, but by working on it, one day I'll be strong enough to do it! That's what the self-rules are for. I'm not good at either Ninjutsu or Genjutsu, so I have to work even harder on my Taijutsu. If I train hard, I know I can make it."

"See, to me, that just sounds like a punishment game."

"No no no, if you call it that it'll suck the motivation right out of you! You have to see the training you do when you fail as a chance to improve yourself. That's not punishment, that's opportunity!"

I ran over the logic in my head. It sounded a little masochistic to me, but it made sense, in a way.

"So you take the bad stuff that happens and get some good out of it . . . Gai, you've got to be the most glass-half-full kind of person I've ever met."

He tilted his head. "Glass half full?"

"It means you're an optimist," I said, and took a sip of my juice box. He still didn't seem to get it. "You see the positive side of things. The opposite of that would be 'pessimist.'"

"I don't think I'm _that_ much of an . . . what was it?"

"Optimist."

"Optimist. I mean, there are a lot of times when I doubt myself or can't see the good in what I'm doing. But my dad's an optimist for sure. No matter what he goes through, he never stops working hard! Which are you?"

"Me? I'm a realist."

"What's that?"

"Well, I say things are what they are. There's water in the glass and that's all there is to it. If you're thirsty, drink it. I guess that means I'm more pragmatic."

"You know a lot of complicated words."

I laughed. "That means I tend to look at what it's actually possible. I look at what's going to work, or won't, and do what I can given the circumstances. Sometimes, that means giving up."

He seemed to think about that, face all scrunched up and staring a hole into my face. Finally, he crossed his arms and declared,

"That's not youthful at all! If you give up just because you can't do something _now_ , you'll never be able to do it. Youth is about trying your hardest, and trying and trying no matter the obstacles. Ukiyo-chan, do your best! Even if it looks impossible! You're stronger than you think, so don't give up!"

I laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not one to give up so easily." I might be thirty something in mental years, but I wouldn't admit to being middle-aged just yet. I had to have some youthful optimism left in me somewhere. Probably? Ten years in public service does tend to knock that out of you.

Though talking with Gai was fun, and interesting, it only redirected my attention from my dilemma for so long. I ended up giving him the last half of my lunch, because I was a little too queasy to finish. He scarfed it down gratefully.

This reminded me of the one shining light in all this mess: the taijutsu classes, which were due to occupy our afternoons, starting a month from now. Now _that_ I could get behind. I'd been eagerly stretching and going on runs to prepare myself for this, even though I was finding exercise to be kind of uncomfortable. I hadn't the faintest clue how to fight, but this was something I could put effort into – especially since Gai was so hyped up about it, his enthusiasm seemed to travel through the air by osmosis. I started to watch him do his exercises during lunch break, and a bit after class got out because he seemed to spend seventy percent of his time in the courtyard trying to do insane numbers of laps and reps – that example he gave was by no means an exaggeration (though he never actually _completed_ the insane numbers of reps – which led him by his own rule to keep attempting set after set), but I didn't think any of his goals were actually humanly _possible_ and I was kind of worried about injuring myself, so in the end I decided not to take any training cues from him. I still came to cheer him on whenever I had a spare moment – which I figured he needed, because there were almost always kids from our class making fun of him. He didn't let any of it bother him though. Optimist.

But there was still the issue of how to occupy class hours. I simply couldn't sit down and take a lesson about addition and basic grammar seriously – I just couldn't. I would scratch pictures into my arm for lack of better things to do. And besides, there was a deep seated aversion in me to wasting my time like this. It was fine when I was a toddler with no responsibilities and could run around acting like a clown, but now I was seriously trying to become a ninja. Having to take the long route because I was technically a child made me bitter over my age in a way I'd never felt before.

After a few weeks, I was about to crack. I woke up one Monday feeling physically nauseous, deep bags under my eyes from having gotten no sleep the night before due to the sheer dread of having to get up. I ate breakfast mechanically, not tasting anything, while my dad looked worriedly on. I hadn't been myself ever since class started, and he could tell. I hadn't been able to socialize much because I was so miserable during class. And I was tired, too. God, I was tired. Doing nothing sapped a surprising amount of energy. At this point, all I wanted was to sleep for a thousand years.

But I was able to get myself out the door, lunchbox safely in my bag, with the thought of 'two more weeks, and taijutsu classes would start – two more weeks.' I felt like I could deal with morning classes if I had that to look forward to in the afternoon.

I dragged my feet along the path to the school, and yawned. It was a bright day. I passed by Kakashi's house just as he was leaving. Sakumo saw me and waved.

"Ukiyo-chan! How's it going? Having fun at the Academy?"

' _No. The last two weeks have been the purest hell I've ever encountered. I think I would take actual hell over this.'_

My smile was strained. "Yes, lots of fun," I said in a faint voice. "The most . . . fun ever. Fun. Uh-huh."

He gave me a weird look, but Kakashi dashed by me and said "We're going to be late."

"See you after school Kakashi!" Sakumo waved and watched us walk away.

When we were out of sight, Kakashi shot me a look with an eyebrow raised.

". . . Are you okay?" He asked.

"What? I'm fine. Perfectly fine." I answered flatly. Come to think of it, how was Kakashi not bored out of his little skull? He _seemed_ fine, even though he probably knew everything we were covering already. If nothing else, I'd seen him read way more complicated books.

"You don't look fine. You look dead."

"Ever the charmer," I mumbled.

It was true. I looked like something the cat dragged through the patio and plopped on its unwary owner's face while they slept. My hair was roughly down to my shoulders, with short bangs framing my face, and I'd skipped combing it in favor of sticking it into two small pigtails. At least my clothes, the light green kimono style dress with my clan crest on the back, the thick white sash, white leggings, and sandals were clean and well put together, mostly because my dad took care of the laundry. I'd splashed cold water on my face, but short of heavy makeup, there was no way to erase the evidence of several days without sleep and the dreadful lack of energy that haunted me.

Kakashi patiently waited for me to start talking again. Honestly, I was at my wit's end. The thought of two more weeks of this made me want to cry right here in public – and I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't let this boy see me break down a second time.

"It's just . . . Aren't you bored?" I asked.

He seemed to consider it as we walked into the more urbanized section of Konoha.

"Are you?" He returned the question.

"Yes," I blurted out. "I'm so . . . I'm so _bored_ , I don't know how much longer I can take it."

" _Hum_." He hummed.

"'Hum?' What does that mean?"

He turned to me. "Have you tried books?"

"Books?"

"Yes. Books."

"I need a little something more to go on."

He rolled his eyes. "Bring them to class, and read them when you get bored."

Oh. It seemed obvious, now that he said it.

I checked out library books on the topics we would be covering in the future, and while everyone else was practicing the multiplication tables, I studied kanji. When we did silent reading, I memorized geography facts, maps of the village, and basic chakra principles. And actually, if I snuck my gaze over to Kakashi who sat on a lower row of the auditorium style classroom, I could see him sneakily turning the pages of a book that had nothing to do with what we were going over.

I kept a copy of our textbook open at the right page, so I could quickly hide my book if the teacher looked over. Not that there was much to worry about, as I sat in the back and I was rarely called upon. There were far rowdier kids in the class, who took up the bulk of his time and effort. Sometimes, I quietly seethed at the kids who were slowing everyone down by kicking up a fuss and refusing to buckle down and work. If you don't want to take this seriously, fine by me, quit and stop dragging the rest of us down. I knew they were just children and I couldn't really blame them, but I was still so darn bitter over this.

But I was doing better now. Classes were bearable. That was a start.

* * *

About a month in, around the time we were supposed to start taijutsu classes, my dad got home one night and told me to pack a bag for at least a few days. Once I'd done as I was told, I walked into the living room to see him dressed to the nines in shinobi gear. He wore that dark green flak jacket, the Konoha headband around his forehead, a kunai pouch on his leg, solid boots, and a sleeveless gray haori with our clan crest on the back. His pack sat all ready to go on a chair next to him.

I stared at him for a moment. This was the first time I'd seen him all decked out. He was impressive, and a little intimidating, but above all he looked strong.

He took my hand and led me outside the door, locking it behind us. It was dark, the air smelled like grass and tepid water, and I could hear cicadas crying in the trees. It was summer, and even nighttime was warm. As we walked, he explained what was going on.

"Ukiyo, I'm going on a very important mission. It's going to be a long one, and I'll be away for a while. While I'm gone, you'll be staying with Sakumo's son, Kakashi-kun. You know Kakashi-kun, don't you?"

I nodded, feeling a frozen mass coalesce in my throat and slide down to my stomach. He hadn't taken any missions outside the village since my mom died. None at all.

"He's in my class," I responded with a thin voice.

"Well you see, Sakumo-san will be coming on this mission with me. So you and Kakashi-kun can look after each other while we're gone. You're both smart, aren't you? I know you are. You'll be just fine."

We walked the path over to the Hatake house, with was an old one-story building surrounded by a rickety fence that faced a rice paddy. There was light coming from inside, and as we walked up the flagstone path the door opened. Sakumo was there, backlit, in full combat gear like my dad. He had a short sword strapped to his back, and one short white sleeve with red triangles on the border. He also had a pack. He stepped out to meet us halfway to the door. His face was unusually hard as he quickly exchanged a few whispered words with my dad.

I looked into the open doorway and saw Kakashi standing there, arms crossed, waiting. I never hated not being able to see his expression more than at that moment. I still held my dad's hand.

Finally, Sakumo went back inside and my dad knelt down to face me. He hugged me tight.

"Be good. I'll be back in a few days."

I didn't hug him back. I couldn't. I was frozen.

". . . Promise you'll be back."

He paused, and looked off to the side. His mouth was tight. "Ukiyo, remember what I told you when your mom left you? About how ninja have to protect the village, no matter what?"

I nodded.

"This is like that time. The village needs me for a very important mission, to protect the village. You're a big girl, and you've very smart. You're going to be a ninja. You know this already. Sometimes ninja go out on a mission, and they do their best, and sometimes they don't come back."

"Like mom."

He took a deep, wavering breath. "Yes. Like your mom. I won't make you a promise I can't keep for sure. I may not come back. But I'm going to do my very best. So be good while I'm gone, okay sweetie?"

I nodded, wanting to cry. He hugged me one last time, and straightened up. Sakumo was saying his goodbyes to his son. He ruffled his hair and grinned cheerfully despite the slight anxiety he'd shown earlier.

"Take care of Ukiyo-chan. Don't destroy the house. No practicing Katon in the backyard! Shuriken are okay, but don't throw them towards the veranda."

Kakashi rolled his eyes.

"I mean it, Kakashi. Those sliding doors had better be in one piece when I get back."

"Yes, yes, now get going already. Your team's waiting."

My dad ushered over me to the doorway. I stood next to Kakashi as our dads waved back at us.

"We're off!" Sakumo called.

"Have a safe trip!" Kakashi said back. He glanced over at me. I know I was supposed to see them off, but my tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth.

"They'll be back," he said, as they disappeared from sight, and closed the front door. "My dad's leading the mission. He won't let anyone die. No matter what."

* * *

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	7. In Which a Cucumber is Decapitated

I wasn't really sure what to do now. I stood in the entryway, rather stupidly waiting for something to happen but not knowing what exactly I was waiting for. I felt numb and cold and miserable. I wanted to go home with my dad. I wanted to be in my own room, in my own bed. I wanted none of this to be happening.

"Come in. I'll show you where everything is." Kakashi said.

"Oh . . . yeah, sorry to intrude," I mumbled with my head down as I toed my sandals off. I followed him down the corridor. He pointed out rooms as he went. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the toilet; it didn't take long. The house was small. The bedroom, once the futon were put away in the closet, doubled as a living room with sliding doors leading out to a veranda that bordered the whole back side of the house and overlooked a large garden. The doors were open to let the cool night air in. Outside, a few fireflies hovered around the hedge enclosing the garden, and I saw a few posts, targets, and a bin full of weaponry. There were a few scorch marks here and there.

The house was not only small, but old. Wood creaked and groaned as it settled and every surface down to the tatami under my feet had a well-worn softness to it. The kitchen had a gas stove, a little fridge, a dull sink and counter, and a little footstool tucked away in the corner. The bath ran on firewood. But as run-down as everything was, it was also clean and obviously well-taken care of. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. The futons Kakashi pulled out of the closet were snowy white and smelled like summer grass.

I watched him lay them out side by side. It was already pretty late, but we didn't have school tomorrow and I couldn't stand the thought of going to sleep feeling like this; if I could sleep at all, I was sure I'd have nightmares. So I sat in a corner with my bag next to me and pulled out a book. Kakashi finished laying the bedding out and left the room. I heard faint clanking coming from the kitchen. He reemerged with two mugs and set one down beside me. He then sat down against the wall a few feet away from me with his own book and quietly read, not once looking at me.

I picked up the mug. There was a dog with a red lolling tongue on it, and it was filled with warm milk. I took a sip. Sweetened with honey. I pulled my knees up to my chest with my book right in front of my nose and huddled with the drink. I read without really thinking about the characters on the page, letting them slip through my mind one by one until my eyes were fuzzy and I couldn't make them out anymore. Kakashi's presence was quiet and constant a little ways away.

Finally, when my eyelids started to close on their own and I couldn't help but slowly nod over my book, he stood and said,

"I'm going to sleep."

I brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas in that hazy stage between awake and sleeping, never really tipping into either one. When I slipped under the futon and the light was turned off, I fell completely asleep with my head pleasantly blank, and didn't dream at all.

* * *

The next morning, Kakashi made breakfast. After I woke up to the sounds of annoying chirping birds and light streaming in through the open window, I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, rubbing sleep from my eyes and still in my pajamas. He was standing on the stool, stirring something in a pot. I went up to the sink, but couldn't reach the tap. I hopped a little, reaching for it, and managed to get one of my elbows on the counter to hold myself up. I strained my fingers and barely managed to swat the tap before my strength gave out and my feet touched back down on the ground. I frowned at the counter, trying to figure out how I could do this, when I noticed Kakashi was staring at me. There was a kind of crinkle to his eyes. The pot bubbled softly.

I pointed at the stool. "Let me borrow that."

Instead he said, "There's another one in the cupboard. That one over there," he pointed.

I retrieved the spare stool and got my water, eyes roaming over his preparations while I drank. The pot held miso soup. There were vegetables rinsed and ready to be chopped on the cutting board to his left. Mushrooms and cucumbers. Kakashi saw me looking.

"Do you want to cut those?"

I'd never cut a vegetable in my life.

I nodded.

"Knives are in the drawer," he said, and turned back to the stove. He moved the pot to the back burner and pulled out a frypan.

I turned my attention to the vegetables. First, I selected a knife. Kakashi was busy with his pan and the eggs he was probably going to fry, so he didn't notice when I picked out the biggest knife I saw from among the neatly lined up utensils and got to work. I set the cucumber down on the board, perpendicular to myself, and grasped it with one hand to hold it steady, brandishing the knife in the other. I frowned, focused. I drew the knife back and slammed it down on the vegetable. The cut end flew off, arched through the air, and smacked into the side of Kakashi's head.

He turned to look at me. His eyes moved from the giant knife in my tiny hand, the cucumber, and the big chunk that was now rolling on the floor. After a moment, he said, perfectly deadpan,

". . . What are you doing?"

I replied, equally dryly, "Chopping."

It was hard to tell if Kakashi was silent because he simply did not know where to start, or because he didn't think it was worth saying anything. He regarded me with an expression I couldn't parse. I was sure I was in line for an acidic remark on how badly I was messing up, so I returned his stare, mouth set in a stubborn line, eyes focused and brow slightly furrowed with all the seriousness I could muster. I was still holding the oversized knife in one hand and the poor beheaded vegetable in the other.

His flat stare wavered and he suddenly ducked his head down, shoulders trembling.

"What's wrong?" I said.

He turned his face away without answering. The shaking grew worse.

"What is it!" I snapped.

"That's not . . ." Pause. More shaking. ". . . How you chop vegetables."

"Oh." I looked down at my setup. I wasn't sure where I'd gone wrong. Of course, I _knew_ flying cucumbers weren't supposed to factor into the equation, but that could happen to anyone and I'd never done this before, so I thought I could be excused. I asked in all seriousness, "How _do_ you chop vegetables then?"

Kakashi turned fully away from me and crouched, head tipped down, huddled onto his little stool, still shaking faintly.

"I'm serious, if you're not going to do anything then I'm going to get back to work. This cucumber isn't going to chop itself!"

Cue harder shaking. After a bit he straightened up, still facing away. He took a deep breath and the shaking stopped. Then it started again. And stopped. Rinse and repeat a few times. He turned to face me, face faintly red beneath his mask, a hint of moisture around his eyes and said,

"It's fine, I'll do it. You're going to cut yourself."

"No I'm not," I said stubbornly. "I can do this. What am I doing wrong?"

"Okay, well first, that knife is too big. And you need to make a cat paw with your other hand. And don't slam the knife down. It's not a sword."

I switched the knife out for one that met his specifications and paused. ". . . Cat paw?"

He demonstrated. "Fingers curled in, so you won't cut them off. Hold it steady. Grab the knife in your other hand. Set it against the vegetable. And cut."

I did as he said. A thick slice of cucumber plopped down on the cutting board.

"Try again," he said. "Thinner this time."

Slowly, painstakingly, I sliced the stupid cucumber. Once he was sure I wasn't going to cut anything important off, he turned his attention back to his eggs. I finally managed to cut the whole thing – into uneven, scraggly pieces, but I was still proud of myself. I nodded approvingly at my own work, admiring the mess on the cutting board with my hands on my hips. I heard a snort, but when I turned my head, Kakashi's face was impassive.

Eventually, the preparations for breakfast were complete. Kakashi took my mangled cucumber slices and made them into a salad. We also had miso soup, rice, and sunny side up eggs. We ate at a low table that he'd pulled out from the closet – the same one that held the futons during the day. I was honestly impressed that Kakashi could cook this well at such a young age.

"Do you cook a lot?" I asked him.

"Dad and I take turns. He teaches me."

"That sounds like fun. I never help with cooking."

"I can tell."

I ignored the insult, because I didn't think it was actually _meant_ as one. Kakashi had a way of bluntly stating facts that made it sound very much like he was being either sarcastic or snotty. On the flipside, it was very hard to tell if he was being deliberately insulting. I wondered if he knew that yet. If he didn't already, he'd become insufferable once he realized it. I could certainly picture that – Kakashi deliberately playing with his words until it became completely impossible to tell if he was serious or not.

* * *

Once breakfast was over and we'd done all the cleaning up, I completed my morning routine and had to figure out what I was going to do with myself today. I had homework, but that was boring as sin. I could go to the library. But it was so nice outside. I didn't feel like staying cooped up all day. If I was in my own home I would've gone outside to play on the swing or something while I figured out a game plan.

As I was coming back from the bathroom, I heard clanging sounds coming from the garden. I went out onto the veranda and saw Kakashi practicing with kunai. I watched as he tossed each one with precision and ease. His movements were practiced and fluid, but completely lacking in anything remotely resembling 'energy' or 'spirit.' It was like he was a machine set to 'automatic.' I wondered what he was thinking about, if he was thinking anything at all. He could've been calculating the trajectory of each individual kunai, or ruminating over what to have for dinner – I pictured him hesitating between salmon and tofu – salmon, tofu, tofu, salmon. Chicken. Chicken was good.

Another kunai hit with a sharp ring, bringing me out of my nonsensical train of thought. Each kunai hit the center of the target. There was a pretty impressive cluster growing on it.

I had done some kunai and shuriken throwing before, but not much. My mom had been helping me with that, and then . . . .

I sighed and sat, hunched despondently with my legs dangling off the veranda. I thought about my dad. I wondered if he was okay. What did a mission like this even involve? I had never been a fan of spy movies, and even then those wouldn't be much help.

He hadn't promised he'd be back.

I remembered the funeral. The black clothes I wore. The white and violet flowers in my hand. The space in front of me filled with tombstones, along with the thought _'There are a lot of graves'_ and one of them was hers and another might be his. That little feeling like my chest was hollowed out and I couldn't breathe crept over me. Black clothes. White and violet flowers. Graves. The gray of my father's haori. Black. White. Violet. Gray. Black, white, violet . .

Suddenly a shadow passed over me and I glanced up. There was a kunai under my nose, hilt towards me. I took it automatically. It was heavy and solid in my hand, and the edge glinted sharply. I lifted my head higher and met Kakashi's gaze, but only for an instant before he put his hands in his pockets and strolled back towards the target.

"You should learn to do this too. Kunai throwing is an important part of being a ninja."

I blinked. A tear rolled down my cheek. Surprised, I wiped it away. Then I realized my eyes were wet and my knuckles were white from clutching my dress. I hurriedly dried them off with my sleeve. I walked out into the garden with the kunai in hand. Kakashi stepped aside to let me have a go.

I took my stance and threw. It nicked the target and spun off into the bushes.

Kakashi handed me another one. I threw that one too. And another.

And another.

And another.

I threw and threw and threw. As long as Kakashi kept handing me something, I kept at it. I couldn't say I was even aiming properly, though my throws eventually wandered closer and closer to the bullseye; I just wanted something, anything, to do with my hands and my mind.

I wasn't sure how long I kept doing that, only that I was sweaty and out of breath by the time I held my hand out expectantly and found that Kakashi wasn't handing me anything. Instead, he was looking up into the sky.

". . . Time for lunch." And he strolled back into the house.

* * *

Lunch was sandwiches. After that, he pulled out a stack of books, notebooks, and a few pencils and sat at the low table.

"Are you doing your homework?" I asked, looking over his shoulder. He nodded.

I watched him for a while before getting my own stuff out. We worked in silence, with only bird chirps and the scratching of pencils and rustling of paper to break it up and keep it from being suffocating. Kakashi was a very good person to have around, if you wanted quiet time.

The homework was basic stuff, and I wouldn't have done it if the assignment hadn't needed to be turned in; there was no point in putting in more than the bare minimum at this point. I finished first and sighed. Kakashi looked up. He put his pencil down, shuffled through his textbooks, and slid one over to me.

It was a semi-advanced treatise on chakra. He went back to his work. I flipped through the pages.

"I've already learned this stuff," I said. He paused again.

"Have you ever tried molding chakra?"

"No."

"Give it a shot."

It wasn't that much of a challenge. I'd read enough on the topic to have a good grasp on where to start. I arranged my hands into the proper formation, and focused, taking a few moments to clear my mind. I mentally reached inside my core to that little itty-bitty coil thingy and began to gather chakra. If I thought of it like spinning yarn, gathering a smattering of little pieces scattered everywhere into one unified bundle, it was easy. Once I had it, which took a few tries, I just held it there, in my chest, for a little while, lazily rotating. There was something warm and comforting about the way it sat right next to my heart.

I wanted to do something with it. So I imagined pulling out a stray thread, tugging and stretching, until it reached my hand. The warm sensation pooled in my palm, right under the skin. I tried pushing it out. That was harder, and I met with some resistance. I had to start over a few times as I lost the original bundle and had to re-spin and re-stretch, but in the end I managed to get it up on the surface of my skin, in a thin layer, where it could be more useful.

I picked up a pen with my chakra-covered hand. I held it out flat, palm down, over the table. The pen stuck to my hand. I felt the slight pull as my chakra was burned like fuel to resist gravity; not much, because a pen isn't all that heavy. I could keep this up, easy.

I practiced sticking heavier and heavier objects to my hand, observing the change in chakra drain depending on the surface area and weight of the object. Notebooks were easy; textbooks a little harder. I held a big one up for a few seconds but it was too much. The chakra thread was used up too quickly and snapped, sending the book crashing on the table with a loud ' _bang_.'

I flinched back. Kakashi's head snapped up. A few pens rolled off the table and onto the floor. I flushed.

"Did you do it?" He asked.

I nodded.

"How was it?"

"Easy."

"I thought it might be."

"You can do more advanced stuff, right? Like jutsu."

He nodded.

"Is it any harder?"

He sat back with his arms crossed, considering that. "Not by much. It's a question of chakra control. And chakra reserves. Clone, transformation, and substitution are really easy, nature transformations are a lot harder. Control's the most important thing, though. If you're good at controlling your chakra, everything gets easier."

"But let me guess, I have to practice hard to get good at controlling, right?"

"Obviously."

The rest of the weekend went on pretty much the same way. To my surprise, I didn't even have time to ruminate over where my dad was, or how he could be doing, or how he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Almost every hour of Kakashi's day was regimented. Morning was kunai and shuriken practice; the afternoon was set aside for studying; late afternoon/early evening was leisure time, which seemed to mean books as far as I'd seen. I got the impression from his nonchalant attitude that he was just going about his usual routine, and I was free to join him or do whatever else I wanted, but every time I stood still, having nothing to do and nothing to think about and images of my parents crept back into my head, he was there, doing his own thing, but giving me a look or a kunai or a book that I was welcome to take or not. Whether my being here had changed his routine or not, I couldn't tell. He didn't strike me as the type of person to make serious accommodations to his lifestyle for someone else, but then again I didn't know him very well. It was anyone's guess.

At any rate, intentional or not, I was fine with it.

The feelings of anxiety and fear I'd held clenched inside me slowly unwound over the weekend, until I felt a lot more like myself. I was still worried, very worried, but there wasn't anything I could do right now, and I was doing neither myself nor my dad any favors by stressing over it. I probably wouldn't feel completely at easy until he was safely back, but for now, I thought I was going to be fine.

* * *

A/N: I just love how everyone referred to the mission they're on as 'The Mission.'

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	8. In Which There is Cognitive Dissonance

Monday rolled around, and finally thoughts of my dad's mission were blown from my mind by something I had been looking forward to for weeks. Taijutsu classes!

I had a spring in my step and a bit of a dumb grin on my face as I marched down the street, a few steps ahead of Kakashi. Finally, the days of being bored half to death were coming to a close! No more wanting to gnaw my fingers to the bone to feel even the slightest sense of relief from the existential dread looming over me at the thought of another day in the abject hell that was the primary school classroom!

"What are you snickering about?" Kakashi said from behind me.

I twirled on my heel and walked backwards as I talked.

"We're starting Taijutsu today!" I waved my arms.

"I know."

"You're not excited?"

"No."

"Not even a little? It'll be more fun than sitting in a classroom all afternoon."

"That depends on your definition of 'fun.' Watch out."

"Wha . . ." I walked back into something and banged my head, hard. I turned around, confused, and frowned up at the electric pole I'd just unwittingly collided into. Kakashi walked past me as I tried to figure out how on earth I'd managed to do that. "Hey, wait up!" He did not wait. I rolled my eyes and skipped a few steps to catch up to him.

When we got to school and entered the classroom, Gai's head immediately swiveled to me and he waved his arms. I dashed up the steps to his row, tossed my bag into a seat and said excitedly,

"We're starting Taijutsu today!"

"Taijutsu!" He repeated, pumping his fist.

"Taijutsu!" I mimicked him with my tiny fist.

"Taijutsu!"

"Tai . . ."

"Give it a rest!" A boy yelled from across the room. "You're so _annoying_!"

I whirled around and glared. I thought about yelling something back, but before I could formulate a snappy comeback, Gai's gasp interrupted me.

"Ukiyo-chan, you're bleeding!"

"I am?" I asked quizzically. "Where?"

"Your head!"

I felt around my hair until I touched the back of my head. It felt wet. My fingers came away red. "Oh, yeah, I ran into a pole on the way here." I nodded to myself.

"Backwards?"

I sighed. "Yes. Backwards." I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and held it to the general area I remembered got hit.

"You should go to the nurse's office," Gai said, frowning.

"Nah, I'm good. It looks bad because of my hair, that's all." Red on white was pretty flashy. I thought I saw Kakashi briefly look my way as I took my seat, keeping the handkerchief firmly against the back of my head just in case it bled some more. I would wash my hair tonight and that'd be the end of it. No fuss, no muss.

* * *

I couldn't focus on any of my morning classes. I kept glancing outside the window at the courtyard below. It was a nice day, if a little hot, and I was dying to get out there and run around like a cheetah on steroids. I couldn't have told you what we went over that day if you said the knowledge would net me a million dollars and the ending to Game of Thrones. Lunch came, and I was too excited to eat. I practically bounced on my bench as I nibbled at the rice balls Kakashi had packed for me.

Finally, oh finally, we were escorted outside the building and into the courtyard, where a kind of obstacle course had been set up. There was a wall, the kind of hedges they use in track and field, a balance beam, a series of posts . . . et cetera et cetera. My enthusiasm was somewhat stunted by confusion at the sight of this slightly odd contraption. The other students talked and laughed and pointed and asked questions among themselves until the teacher brandished a clipboard and raised his voice to get their attention.

"Class, listen up! We're doing physical evaluations today. I'm going to time you as you go through the obstacle course. This isn't graded, but I'll use the results to determine everyone's physical abilities and how the Taijutsu classes will progress. Any questions?"

A girl raised her hand. "What if we can't finish it?"

"That's fine. Just do your best."

A few more questions later, and the first person went right for it. We all watched the poor boy like oversized, featherless hawks as he completed the course, a little slowly, but steadily. He got to the final obstacle, a very tall wooden fence. He backed up, took a running start, and managed to get up high enough on momentum alone to get his fingers up on the edge and pull himself over. He finished to the sound of cheers. To my right someone said,

"Clan kid. Of _course_ this is easy for him."

As for me, I had a difficult time keeping my jaw were it belonged (not on the ground).

Of the next few people that went, only a handful managed to get past that wall. I was starting to think this was just plain unfair to those who _hadn't_ been rigorously trained since they'd started tottering around the clan compound. My parents sure had never taught me how to vault over a wall twice my height – not that I would have even thought of asking to be taught something like that. Chakra or no chakra, the human body has _rules_ , dammit, physical and biological _rules_ , but there the terrible tots went, breaking them willy-nilly as if concepts like physics and logic were on an extended vacation to the Bahamas. I mean, I knew _Kakashi_ could probably do that, and certainly _adults_ could, but there was no way he wasn't some freak of nature, and of course grown-ups had had time to learn and practice and could use chakra too . . . right?

I was starting to get antsy when the next kid stepped forward and declared,

"Alright! Watch me nail this thing!" Obito grinned. He cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to get the _best_ time!"

"Stop bragging and get on with it!" Someone yelled from the back.

"Yeah, yeah, we're all waiting!"

"Tch," he clicked his tongue. As he stepped up to the starting line, another voice I recognized chimed in.

"Obito! Go for it!" Rin called out. She turned to Kakashi, who was standing next to her and said, "Are you going to cheer too?"

He shrugged.

Obito was correct in one aspect: he dashed through the course faster than anyone before him. However, he fell off the balance beam, tripped over a hedge, and when he got to the wall, he slipped off and went crashing right on his butt. Laughter (and not the good kind) came from the audience. He stood back up, flushing red, and gave it another try. With a great yell he dashed up the wall and swung himself over. He landed with a muffled ' _oomph'_ on the other side.

He walked back, grinning proudly even though he'd gotten scrapped up. He pointed at Kakashi and said,

"Try and beat that!"

The defiantly cocky look on his face turned to one of dismay when Kakashi not only blasted his time into smithereens, but did it without exerting the least bit of effort. He actually _jumped_ right over that stupid wall. The cheers coming from the class, especially the girls, were deafening.

"Kakashi's amazing!"

"He's sooo cool!"

I sighed to myself. Sure, that was kind of cool, but the popular response was entirely out of proportion. I was less impressed than I was flabbergasted by _how_ such a tiny little kid could possibly jump that high. I didn't think he was using chakra either. I was being forced to rethink my standards of what was humanly possible in this world, which, to be fair, I should've done a long time ago upon finding out people here could walk up wall and breathe fire, but darn it I'd wanted to believe the human body _at least_ was consistent across this crazy set of worlds.

Apparently, no, it was not.

In short order, it was my turn and _holy smokes_ how was I supposed to do this? It was one thing to see one or two people accomplish crazy feats, and another to get my little chubby toddler self to mimic them. It was hard to believe I was even capable of this kind of thing, because for the longest time, I hadn't been. Not even close.

But then I started to think . . . maybe? Maybe _now_ I could? I could use chakra, couldn't I, and _that_ hadn't been so hard.

Dammit, if the laws of the universe were warped, at least I could hope they were fair.

Gai's lone voice came from the crowd.

"Go for it Ukiyo-chan! Use the power of youth!"

I didn't think 'youth' was really going to help me here, but I still turned around and gave him a thumb's up before stepping up to the starting line. Somehow, that little gesture gave me enough power to stop myself from shaking and swallow around the dryness in my mouth.

"Ready, set . . . go!"

I took off as fast as my little legs could carry me. I jumped the hedges pretty easily, until the last one where my foot hooked on the bar and dragged me down to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. I stood up and kept moving. The balance beam was next, and I had to slow down to a virtual crawl to keep from falling. I teetered over the thin plank, my hands flapping on either side in a way I thought might make me look like a flailing chicken, and reached the end.

Crawling under a low tunnel; climbing a rope, then sliding back down a pole; I was starting to get winded; zigzagging between posts; I got a little dizzy; more hedges to jump; this course was way longer than it looked!

Once I'd reached the wall, I was completely out of breath and more than a little ruffled. I stared in dismay at the giant wooden beast looming over me. What little confidence in my abilities I may have had waved bye-bye right then and there. Hasta la vista, was nice knowing you.

Well, _I_ sure wasn't jumping right over that. What was I supposed to be, a kangaroo? An oversized flea? No, I was human, and by the standards of this world, I was starting to think I might be a mediocre one at that.

I stepped back, took a running start, and got up a little over halfway. I fell back and considered my options, ignoring the mixed jeers and encouragements coming from the crowd.

If I'd had kunai on me, I could've used those for handles; no one said we weren't allowed to use tools. Ignoring the fact that my time was getting longer and longer, I examined the wall. It was made up of planks nailed together. If I tried, I could wedge my fingertips in them, but not enough to support my weight.

There had to be a way to do this that didn't involve pure physical strength. There _had_ to be.

Wait . . . weight?

I had an idea. I stepped back a few feet, focusing on my chakra. There was no way I had enough control to climb up, a-la-Spiderman, but I only needed a few seconds. Once I'd gotten my chakra ready and coated my hand, I ran with all my might up to the wall, and jumped with my arms outstretched. Predictably I couldn't reach the ledge, but at the high point I smacked my hand on the wall and stuck it there with chakra. In the precious few seconds it bought me, I got my feet up and _kicked_ , pushing myself up a few extra inches. I grasped for the ledge, and got the very tips of my fingers up before my chakra fizzled out. I tried to swing my other arm up to get both hands on the ledge, but I wasn't strong enough. My fingers scrapped off the wood and I fell back down, hard. I lay on the ground for a moment, staring up at the sky.

Well, shucks.

"Ukiyo, you're done! Good job!" The teacher called out, making a note on his clipboard.

"But . . ." I protested, sitting up.

"Next!"

It was over. I stood up and brushed the dirt off my clothes. Gai waved as I walked back towards the group.

"Ukiyo-chan! You did great!"

I forced a watery smile as I went to sit with those who'd already completed the course. I hugged my knees to my chest, sorely disappointed in myself. Could I have done better? I knew it was crazy and everything in my mind was screaming 'impossible,' but I really would have like to get up over that wall.

It was like, if someone told me humans could suddenly fly. Even if they demonstrated so I _knew_ it was possible, and I couldn't quite bring myself to believe them but tried it on faith anyway, it would still be disappointing when I crashed into the ground.

"Hey, don't worry about it."

I looked up to see Rin standing over me. She took a seat by me and said. "I couldn't get over the wall either. Your name's Ukiyo, right? I'm Rin."

"Oh . . . nice to meet you." I said politely, but my heart wasn't in it.

"You still did really well, so don't feel down."

"Thanks. I still wish I could've gotten over the wall."

"This is just a baseline test, so I wouldn't worry too much about it. We've all got to start somewhere, right? That goes for you too, Obito!" Rin called out at Obito, who was leaning against the fence and sulking with his hands wedged in his pockets.

"I hope you'll get better. A ninja who can't even climb a wall is pretty useless," Kakashi said.

"Oh, shush," I said. "You're an outlier. You and your crazy aptitude shouldn't be counted. You'll throw off the average and set crazy expectations for the rest of us."

"Outlier?" Rin asked.

"She means someone outside the norm," Kakashi explained.

"I was thinking more in terms of data analysis, but sure, that works." I noticed that it was Gai's turn. "Oh, I have to go cheer him on," I said, standing up and brushing off the back of my dress.

Kakashi stuffed his hands inside his pockets, posture stiff and grumbled, "Why do you bother hanging around him? He can't even use ninjutsu. Isn't it odd to want to be a ninja when you can't even do that much? He's wasting his time."

I stopped, and turned to him. "What's wrong with not using ninjutsu?"

He looked at me like I was stupid. "A ninja uses ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu. You can't be a ninja if you can't use ninjutsu. That's not how it works."

I was annoyed and sore over my failure. It probably wasn't warranted, but I still shot back, "So if I couldn't use ninjutsu, you wouldn't be my friend anymore?" I paused. "What if I couldn't do taijutsu?"

He rolled his eyes. A spike of irritation shot through me. "That's not the point. You _can_ use it. You're wasting your time hanging around someone that's just going to fail."

"You know what, Kakashi," I looked him dead in the eye. "I'd rather waste my time cheering him on than waste it listening to you."

I walked away, ignoring his frustrated "Hey, wait!" and got up right to the edge of the course, in front of everyone, as close as I could get. The kids who were paying attention were snickering and yelling stuff like 'loser,' 'weirdo,' 'freak,' and saying stuff among themselves; 'he was the alternate,' 'he's always doing those weird exercises in the courtyard,' 'I've seen him and his dad – you know, the Eternal Genin – running around the village screaming weird stuff at each other and crying and stuff,' 'ew, _gross_ ,' 'everyone _knows_ he's a loser . . .' 'he's never going to become a ninja, why bother coming here?'

My fists tightened in my dress. I ground my teeth.

I took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of my lungs.

"GAI! GO FOR IT! DO YOUR BEST!"

For a moment, the entire class was stunned into silence, Gai included. He looked back at me with dumbfounded surprise on his face. I gave him a thumb's up and a deep, stony-faced nod. His face broke out in a huge grin and he returned the gesture, light glinting off his teeth.

"Absolutely! Thanks for your support!"

Gai started the obstacle course. He was doing really well. People started yelling stuff again, but every time they did, I raised my voice and yelled encouragements as loud as I possibly could. But after a while, my voice was breaking and more and more people joined in with insults and boos, and I couldn't drown them out anymore.

It was so frustrating! I knew it wouldn't affect him, because he was used to it and all that, but I still wished I could do something more. It just wasn't fair. He did not deserve to hear any of this.

So I kept on cheering as best I could, even though I was one person and couldn't compete with ten or more. And then, magically, another voice joined mine.

"Come on! Just a little bit further! You can do it!"

I looked to the right and saw the same girl who'd snapped at the boys during the entrance ceremony for gossiping about him. That tall, black-haired girl with the stunning eyes I hadn't seen come up was also yelling as loud as she could alongside me. When she stopped to catch her breath, she elbowed the boy standing beside her,

"Asuma, come on, you too," she told him.

He was obviously a little embarrassed, but he still joined it, albeit at a lower volume. Between the three of us, we couldn't drown all of them out, but we sure put a good dent in there. By the time he got to the wall, his time was really good. Only one last obstacle. I wanted to hold my breath in anticipation, but I couldn't do that _and_ cheer him on at the same time. I watched as he ran up to the wall, jumped, _easily_ caught the ledge and hauled himself over it.

"Yes!" I pumped my fist in the air. "He did it!"

"His time was really good, too," the girl said. "He'll be in the top five, at least. Oh, I'm Kurenai. Sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I was a little . . ."

"Occupied?" I said.

She smiled. "Exactly."

I grinned back. "My name's Ukiyo. Thanks for helping out."

"No, I'm sorry I didn't come in earlier. This is Asuma, by the way," she gestured to her friend, the boy with tan skin and a razor sharp jawline that I'd seen her with at the entrance ceremony. He nodded with a lazy grin.

"I'll be up soon." Kurenai said. "We should hang out sometime."

"We should!" I grinned harder. I _liked_ her. "Do your best!"

I returned to the sidelines with Gai, who talked ecstatically about the obstacle course, but as to be expected, was also critical of his time.

"Next time, I'll do even better! I lost a lot of time on the balance beam, so to make up for it, I'll do a hundred laps on the fence around the Academy. No, maybe two hundred would do . . ."

I laughed. "Don't injure yourself. Getting stuck in a hospital would be a real setback."

"You are absolutely correct, Ukiyo-chan, it would. But that doesn't scare me! Overcoming pain is part of improving yourself!"

"Yes, that's all well and good, but pain is a separate issue altogether."

Watching him go over that wall had lifted a weight off my chest; I wasn't sure why, but I felt much better now.

Kurenai completed the course, including the wall, with a very decent time, while Gai, Asuma and I cheered her on (though the crazy volume wasn't necessary this time around). She was the last one to go, and after she was done, classes were over and our teacher said we could go home for today. I was talking out with the three of them about going to get a snack, when I felt a quick tap on my shoulder. I turned around. Kakashi was standing right behind me.

"Let's go," he said, staring expectantly.

"Oh. Right." I turned back to my friends. "I have to go now. See you tomorrow!"

"See you!"

"Goodbye, Ukiyo-chan!"

"Later."

I waved back at them as I left with Kakashi, only letting up once we'd cleared the entrance and couldn't see them anymore. But as we walked, my good mood faded.

Both the air on the way back and the air in Kakashi's house were definitely chillier than they should have been given the warm summer weather. He unlocked the door and went in without so much as acknowledging my existence. Okay. Silent treatment it was. Although, it was a little hard to tell if he was doing it on purpose or not. I ended up grabbing my homework, intending to go to the veranda outside. If I was going to be ignored, then I might as well do it by myself.

Only, when I walked into the living room in order to access the door to the outside, I saw him sitting by the low table, staring my way (but at a point somewhere around my feet) like he'd been waiting. I noticed there was a little first-aid kit on the table. He pointed to the space in front of him in a way that felt very demanding.

"Sit," he said.

I raised an eyebrow but sat down anyway, facing him.

"The other way."

I rolled my eyes and turned around. I heard some rustling, then something cold was applied to the back of my head.

". . . What are you doing?"

"Disinfecting your wound. You should have gone to the nurse's office this morning."

". . . It's been hours. I don't think disinfecting it now is going to do much."

The cold cotton (which I guessed was soaked in alcohol?) was pressed harder into my head. He didn't reply.

My shoulders itched. "You know, you don't have to look out for me like this. I'm fine by myself."

"Yes I do."

"Why?"

"My dad told me to look after you."

"I don't think he meant it like _this_ . . ."

"Injuries should be taken care of properly. That's common sense for a ninja."

"Oh, ninja this, ninja that," I snapped. "The whole world doesn't revolve around being a ninja!"

"Turn around."

I shuffled to face him and glared.

"Show me your hands," he said mechanically, still not looking at me even though my face was literally eight inches from his nose.

I crossed my arms. "No."

He frowned, evidently not expecting that. His eyes snapped up to me.

"Show me your hands," he repeated.

"Why?"

"You injured them during the course. When you tried to climb the wall."

"So what?"

"You have to treat them."

"Okay. If you apologize first."

His frown deepened. "For what?"

"For what you said about Gai."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Yes, you did. You said he was wasting his time trying to become a ninja. And then you said being friends with him was also a waste of time. That's not true, and it was a mean thing to say."

"Well, it _is_ ," he said, rolling his eyes. "A waste of time. He can't use ninjutsu. He's never going to become a ninja."

"So?"

"He's wasting his time," he repeated, slower this time like the problem here was that I wasn't comprehending his obviously superior logic, and not that he was being dense as pocket full of lead.

"He's not wasting _yours_ , and neither am I, so how is it any of your business?"

There was a pause. I regarded him steadily. He broke first.

"Why should I apologize? I didn't _do_ anything wrong."

This was going absolutely nowhere. "Yes you did. You hurt my feelings."

He didn't say anything to that, but had the decency to turn his face away. I didn't know how to explain this to him; I just wasn't that patient.

"Either apologize, or I'm going home."

He eyed me dubiously and crossed his arms. "You can't do that. Your dad told you to stay with me."

"My dad isn't here right now."

Kakashi pulled back, grumbling something incoherent. I waited patiently for him to speak up. He didn't look like he was about to, so I stood.

"Okay. Suit yourself. I'm going home."

I think, by the way he watched me gather my stuff up and carefully pack everything (going extra slow to give him time to process), expression disbelieving, that he didn't think I was actually going to do it.

Once I'd gotten everything together (took me about five minutes), I shouldered my bag and walked out of the living room, down the hall, to the entrance, and slipped my shoes on. I looked behind me. Kakashi hadn't followed. And so the cookie crumbles.

I left, closed the door behind me, and set a course for home.

I got about ten feet away when the door rattled open and Kakashi ran out onto the street. I stopped. Turned around.

"Are you ready to apologize?" I asked him, flatly.

He glared.

" _Fine_ ," he said, with more venom than I'd ever heard coming from his tiny covered face. "I'm _sorry_."

I walked up to him as he kept staring morosely at me. I suspected he really, really hated me right now. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "Apology accepted. Let's go make dinner."

"No. I'll do it myself. You're just going to decapitate vegetables again and I don't need that right now," he said, turning around and stomping (with bare feet) back to the house. I followed after him, deciding to let him have this one.

You can't win all of them.

* * *

There were some interesting developments over the next few days. Taijutsu classes were pretty fun. All we were doing for now was running, weight lifting, stuff that reminded me of gymnastics, some kunai throwing, and kicking and punching practice against dummies – no actual sparring as of yet, but a few kids were raring to go. Among them was Gai. He was fired up. In between helping me do pull-ups and encouraging my feeble attempts to kick the dummy (I just wasn't sure how hard I was supposed to hit – I couldn't hit with all my strength, because that would mean risking a broken foot), he started asking me about Kakashi.

Pretty general questions at first. What kind of person he was, how talented was he, _really_ , and did he have a rival? I answered as best as I could, curious as to why Gai regularly glanced, with a determined look on his face, over to Kakashi (who attracted one heck of a crowd whenever he practiced moves on the teacher – he was the only one allowed to do that at this point). Kakashi had caught Gai's eye. I guess the kid really liked a challenge, and there was no better challenge than Hatake Kakashi.

I also helped Gai during Taijutsu class. Push-ups were nothing to him now, so, by his request, I sat on his back to provide an additional challenge. To my endless surprise, he was actually able to complete his crazy number of sets – even with my added weight on top.

What a crazy world this was – super powers, super strength, super kids. Could I be one of them? Could I actually jump over a wall twice my height one day? Could I soar through the air, punch a tree down, run a marathon in the space of an afternoon, and throw a knife through a fly from ten meters away? The back of my mind was screaming 'no, absolutely not, you crazy woman.' I had a hard time believing I might be exceptional, because half the population is necessarily below average, and statistically speaking I was probably not on the level of Kakashi, Gai, or any of the kids who could already jump over that wall.

But it was worth trying, wasn't it? There wasn't anywhere to go but up. I'd picked up chakra easily enough. How different could actual fighting be?

As it would turn out, very different. _Very_ different.

But I didn't have time to think about it much more. About two week after they'd left, we received word that Sakumo and my dad were finally coming home.

Only, the messenger sent to us had an awfully grim look on his face, and vanished right after giving us the news. All the adult shinobi I ran across that day wore this tight, worried expression. Even our teacher.

Kakashi and I could only stare at each other. We both knew something was off, and knew the other knew. And as I looked back into his eyes, for the first time ever, I could see that he was just as confused as I was.

* * *

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	9. In Which A Mistake Was Apparently Made

The day my dad was set to come home, I distractedly packed my stuff before leaving for school with Kakashi. It was a cloudy day and oppressively hot, the cloying, humid heat feeling like a physical weight on my skin. It settled into my lungs with each inhale and never seemed to fully leave. I almost felt like I could choke at any second. We didn't speak as we walked. Cicadas buzzed loudly, blocking my ears. I couldn't hear anything else; a carriage rattled by without a sound. It was like I was walking alone down the dirt road, by bag heavy on my back, my chest tight. The heat wavered around me.

I got to school before I realized. When I opened the door to the classroom, the rattling knocked me back into rhythm and I blinked the haze away. The sound of cicadas faded. Everything suddenly felt a little too sharp. Kurenai and Gai waved. I greeted them as usual and sat in the seat Kurenai saved for me. Asuma came to chat with us before class started, but I couldn't get into the conversation. I stared blankly out the window. A few stray raindrops pattered on the glass and trailed down in wavy wind-blown patterns to coalesce on the windowsill.

"Ukiyo? Ukiyo?"

Kurenai waved her hand in front of my face. I jolted up and banged my knee on the desk. I quickly looked around. Gai, Asuma, and Kurenai were all staring at me.

"Hey, space-head, you alright?" Kurenai said.

I blinked a few times and shook myself. "Oh . . . oh, yes, I'm fine."

"Your dad's coming back today, right?" Asuma asked.

I nodded.

He hesitated. His gaze swept to the side and didn't turn back. "The mission he's on is pretty important, but . . ." Asuma trailed off, rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"But what?" I pressed, even though I didn't want to hear the rest.

". . . I heard it didn't go so well."

Kurenai's palm hit the desk. She sprang to her feet and glared ferociously. "Asuma! We don't know _anything_. And Hatake Sakumo went too, so there's _no way_ the stuff they're saying is true."

Kakashi lifted his face from his book and looked our way.

Asuma shook his head, shifting his weight from side to side but otherwise unfazed by the look coming from Kurenai. Like she was forbidding him from saying more.

Asuma continued. "But it's true. I heard my old man talking during a meeting. The adults are all up in arms about it."

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit." Kurenai grumbled, and sat back down with her arms crossed.

"Still, it's _true_. Something happened. Don't know what, but _something_ went wrong."

* * *

I left school after afternoon taijutsu classes with a knot in my stomach. I didn't say anything to my friends as I grabbed my stuff and dashed out of the classroom. Though Kurenai had made Asuma shut up about the mission and Gai tried his best to take my mind off it, I was worried sick. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my dad. I wanted him to be okay.

He was alive. I knew that for sure. If he'd died they would've told me. I would've gotten a visit from a man with a mask, and been handed a scroll. Like the time my mom died. Right?

I ran down the street. I stepped in a puddle and splashed mud on my dress, nearly got run over by a cart carrying watermelons. I ran and ran and ran as fast as I could without stopping even though my breath grew short and my lungs felt weird and the blood rushed to my face, until I got to my house and stood there for a moment, not wanting to go in and _desperately_ wanting to go in at the same time because if something _had_ happened I would _know_ when I crossed the threshold and there would be no way to go back to not knowing anything at all.

I swallowed, and it felt like lead was sliding down my throat.

I walked up to the front gate, and tugged it open. My legs trembled. I walked across the stepping stones to the front door. I tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

I wrenched it open and flew inside, threw my bag down in the entryway and looked around frantically. The thread of tension tightened abruptly. _'Where is he?'_

My heart burst in my chest when I saw him. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table. I didn't register anything else.

The world turned blurry as I dashed to him and threw my arms around his midsection. All at once I was _sobbing_ , harder than I ever had before, maybe even harder than I had the time Kakashi made me cry. Thick tears pooled and ran down my face. I couldn't breathe. My voice came out in a thin wail that cracked and stuttered as I gulped down air that smelled like sweat and blood and dirt.

All at once, it was catching up to me. How scared I had been of stepping into the house and finding that red scroll, of holding white and purple flowers, of staring down at that vast expanse of graves. It felt like a wire had snapped somewhere and all the accumulated tension flooded through me as I clung to my dad and cried.

In a split second his arms were around me too, crushing, muttering something but I couldn't hear anything save for my own heartbeat and sobs getting rawer by the second.

He was okay. My dad had come back. He hadn't ended up in a body bag. Everything was okay. He wasn't going to disappear.

His embrace seemed to hold all of that. He held me as I cried my fill, releasing all the tension until I felt drained but better, still terrified, but reassured, wanting to know what happened but honestly not caring because it wasn't important. What was important was that he was here.

I wasn't alone.

* * *

Later that evening, after I'd calmed down and we'd silently eaten ice cream for dinner, I watched him unpack his gear in the living room. I sat on the couch with my homework as he laid out kunai, a short sword, chipped and bloody, the gray haori stained with blood. He had bandages on his arms, and probably more that I couldn't see. He cleaned his weapons one by one, and when he was done he took out an assortment of stones and tools I didn't know the name of and polished them carefully. It took him hours. I sat up watching him well past my bedtime, hypnotized by the play of light reflecting rhythmically on the blades. The haori was soaking in a tub.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch because when I half woke up during the night, I was in my bed and the door was creaking shut.

There was no talk of me going to school the next day. Instead, my dad made breakfast, and hung the laundry out while I ate. The haori flapped in the breeze, pristine.

He turned to me as I walked out into the garden, and grinned.

"I hear you started taijutsu? How about you show me how good you've gotten, kiddo?"

* * *

It started raining soon after. I paused in the middle of showing off a (rather badly executed) string of moves called kata, and looked up. A drop _pinged_ on my nose. Within seconds it was pouring and we ran around frantically trying to get the laundry down before it got completely drenched. We ran inside with armfuls of clothes and sheets that smelled like fresh grass. I buried my face in it. It was so soft.

I continued my demonstrations, indoors, while the rain kept on falling. It didn't stop for a long time, long enough for me to babble on and on about the Academy, about what we were studying, about the training, about my friends (a flash of recognition sparked in his eyes when I mentioned Asuma and Kurenai – it was an approving look), and about how I could use chakra now!

"See!" I stuck a book to my hand and displayed it proudly. I was practically hopping in place, a grin splitting my face, I was so excited. "See? I can do it!"

"That's amazing Ukiyo!" I could tell he meant those words. His smile was delighted, proud. "You're such a smart girl. How did you learn that? I thought chakra control isn't taught until later?"

"It isn't." I preened. "I read some books. Also, Kakashi helped."

His smile froze.

My control broke and the book crashed to the floor with a loud _bang_.

I jumped.

My eyes switched rapidly back and forth from my dad's expression, which was morphing into a distressed and furious scowl, to the book by my feet. He got up. Kneeled in front of me. Grabbed me by my shoulders, hard. Looked me straight in the eyes and said,

"Ukiyo, _never_ go near that boy again. Stay away from that family."

" . . . But why?"

"That family is no good. Sakumo . . ." he took a deep breath, shut his eyes tight, and when he reopened them I thought I saw guilt layered under fury. "You cannot speak to them. This isn't up for debate."

"But . . ."

"No! Ukiyo, do as you're told. Don't speak with Kakashi again. _Stay away_. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard. It wouldn't do any good to argue with him. I nodded a lie, my mouth dry. I didn't understand at all.

* * *

When I went back to school the next day, I was apprehensive as to what I should do. I didn't want to just cut Kakashi off without an explanation, or cut him off at all, for that matter. I didn't even know why I wasn't supposed to talk to him. Just that it probably had something to do with the mission, but that wasn't much to go on. So I walked into class with a stomach like a ball of lead and a dry mouth, thinking hard about how to approach this.

Turns out, I didn't need to worry. Kakashi wasn't in class today.

He wasn't in class the next day either.

Or the next.

Every day I walked by his house, and every day I paused to look at it. I wasn't sure why I did that, but I started to wish Kakashi would come back to school. I missed him. Even if talking to him was like pulling teeth sometimes. He was my friend.

After a week, I noticed something new. I stopped dead in the middle of the road, eyes wide in shock. For a moment I couldn't process what I was seeing. And then I did, and a horrible feeling filled my chest.

There was trash thrown in the front yard; rotten fruit smeared against the house; scribbled paint on the fence and walls, reading,

'Traitor'

'Disgrace'

'You should have died'

'DIE!'

'Die already'

'Scum'

'Your existence is an insult to shinobi'

And so on, and on. I couldn't read all that was written. Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed. Without thinking I broke out in a run, and didn't stop until I'd reached the school. I wanted to throw up.

Kakashi didn't come to class that day either.

When I walked the path home, dreading the sight, I was relieved to see that the damage had been meticulously cleaned up. There wasn't a trace remaining.

It happened again the next day.

And the next.

I didn't know what to do.

I was forbidden from talking to them, or even from approaching the house, but that hardly mattered when weighed against figuring out if Kakashi and his dad were okay or not. But I couldn't work up the courage to go knock on their door. Surely they wouldn't want me to intrude. I would be making a nuisance of myself if I tried stepping in.

Those thoughts felt like cheap excuses, because that's what they were.

So I decided to do . . . whatever it was that I _could_ do. I considered my options. I was a child, and there really wasn't much I could concretely accomplish. But I couldn't stand to do nothing at all.

I cornered Asuma and asked to meet with him at lunchtime. Alone.

Kurenai refused to say anything about the topic of the mission, or of Kakashi, or even to allow any conversation regarding it to occur when she was around. She rather bluntly shut Gai down when he tried to get answers out of the teacher concerning his "rival's" chronic absences. There was a kind of fear in her eyes, and I knew she'd been told not to talk about it by someone with power. Maybe her parents. I doubted she would have been so adamant about avoiding the subject otherwise. Kurenai never hesitated to speak her mind. But at the same time, she was straight-laced and righteous, so whatever she thought, or whatever she knew, it would do no good to try and talk to Asuma about it with her around.

We met behind the school building. I crossed my arms over my puffed-out chest and bluntly said,

"I know you know what the deal is with Kakashi."

Asuma shifted his gaze to the side, mouth twisted reluctantly. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're the Hokage's son. You _have_ to know. Tell me."

A few beats of silence passed before he shifted his eyes quickly back to me, then to the ground.

"Look, you've got it wrong. It's not like my old man tells me everything. I don't really know the details or anything . . ."

"But you know something, don't you?"

". . . Bits and pieces, yeah. I," he coughed awkwardly. "Overhear them sometimes? Ukiyo-chan, it's not that I don't want to tell you, but I really don't know that much."

"Just tell me whatever you know. Anything helps. _Please_." There was no one else I could ask. If I was going to make any sense of all this, I needed him to talk to me.

He sighed. "Alright. It's nothing you won't hear eventually anyway.

"Your dad and Kakashi's dad – Hatake Sakumo – were on a really important mission. I mean, _really_ important. It had to do with the safety of the whole village, it was so important. The details are secret, so I don't know what it was, exactly, but it _couldn't_ fail. That's why they sent Hatake-san. He's Konoha's White Fang.

"But he botched it.

"From what I heard . . . and this is just what I heard but I know it's true, all the higher ups, the jounin, everyone's talking about it. Hatake-san messed up. He had a choice between completing the mission and saving his teammates.

"He chose to save them.

"But that means . . . something bad will probably happen. It was a really, _really_ important mission . . . My old man's really worried. Yeah. Everybody is."

Asuma looked at me straight on for the first time since we'd started talking, and there was pity in his eyes.

"Everyone's blaming him for what he did. If he had completed the mission, everyone else on the team would have died. But then Konoha would have been safe . . . at least that's what everyone is saying."

* * *

I stood in front of the house. It was squeaky clean, with a plume of smoke coming off the chimney, and darkened windows. I clutched the neatly wrapped packet to my chest. I swallowed heavily. My dad's words and stern face passed through the back of my head, but I ignored them as I stepped up to the front gate. It was unlocked, and with a little shove, it gave way. I walked across the stepping stones. I rang the doorbell.

Nothing happened. I blinked, and rang it again. Still nothing.

Gathering up all my nerve, I knocked on the door and called out, loudly,

"Is anybody home? It's Ukiyo! Kakashi! You there?"

I had a good set of lungs on me, so I knew for a fact that they heard me. If they wanted to ignore me, they could certainly try, but I hated feeling powerless and I had something I wanted to get off my chest and _gosh darn_ if I wasn't going to get the chance to say it.

I kicked the door.

"Kakashi! I know you're in there! I'm not going away until you open the door!"

In retrospect, maybe banging down the door of a household that had been harassed ceaselessly in the past few days wasn't the brightest move I could've made, but short of crawling through the kitchen window or jumping the backyard fence, there were very few sensible options left open to me at this point in time.

I knocked again, harder.

Finally, oh finally, the door opened a crack and a familiar face peeped out. Kakashi glared morosely at me through the slit.

"What?" he said shortly.

I held up the package. "I got your homework. And class notes, everything you missed. Can I come in?"

He frowned at me, obviously irritated, and seemed ready to slam the door in my face when a bigger shadow connected to a bigger hand appeared and opened the door wider. Kakashi stumbled, thrown off balance, and glanced up over his shoulder.

My heart skipped a beat.

Sakumo smiled down at me kindly. He didn't look upset at my presence, but by God did he look tired.

"Kakashi, don't be rude. That's no way to greet a friend. Ukiyo-chan, please come in."

"Thank you, sorry for intruding," I mumbled as I quickly slipped past Kakashi, who shot me a murderous glare, and toed my shoes off.

"Kakashi, take Ukiyo-chan to the living room. I'll put some tea on," Sakumo said, walking back towards the kitchen.

"Oh, you don't have to . . ."

"Don't bother . . ."

Kakashi and I spoke at the same time, and quickly looked at each other. Sakumo laughed.

"It's my pleasure. I was just thinking a nice hot cup of tea would hit the spot."

Kakashi rolled his eyes, stuck his hands in his pockets, and stalked off towards the living room. I was evidently supposed to follow him. Okie-dokie then.

The inside of the house was oddly . . . dark. The windows were pretty much boarded up, only letting slivers of light through, and the air was stale. I sat down at the low table and placed the packet in front of me.

"So . . . we've gone over some stuff while you were gone." I flipped through the pages, admiring my own handiwork a little bit. Everything was neatly written out, color-coded, organized by section, with all the important concepts underlined, and the homework assignments clearly laid out. It was a nice little document that I had spent _far_ too much time making (in the dead of night so my dad wouldn't know), especially given how much use Kakashi was likely going to get out of it. Which was to say, none whatsoever.

It was an excuse. Maybe I'd gotten too elaborate with it. But it was basically paperwork, and that was my jam, so it's not like I lost much in making it. Except time. And sleep. And a few colored pencils. And a little bit of dignity, to be honest (I had to beg my friends for the right supplies – and notes – I didn't take notes). So, nothing important, really.

As I went over the packet, a very unimpressed-looking Kakashi as my (captive) audience, Sakumo came in with some tea and snacks. He watched as I laid everything out, the subjects we studied, the homework that had to be turned in, what was likely to come up on the test, _et cetera_. My little presentation was rehearsed with all the care I would have put into a budget proposal to a governmental funding committee, and went off without a hitch.

Sakumo looked delighted. Kakashi did not.

"This is amazing, Ukiyo-chan!" Sakumo said, going through the packet again, grinning from ear to ear. "I was a bit worried about Kakashi falling behind. Thank you for doing this for him. It must have taken a lot of time."

That was obviously a lie. Kakashi had absolutely no need for anything that was written in there. He either knew it or could figure it out on the fly, and I knew for a fact that Sakumo had no illusions about his son's abilities. But his thanks still seemed genuine. Looks like I got brownie points for effort.

"It was no trouble. It helped me go over the material, so really it was good for me too," I answered.

This was also a lie. I had no more need for the content of our classes than Kakashi did. Both of us were sitting there, pants on fire, with Kakashi in the middle, obviously not having any of it, torn between which of us most deserved his glare and settling for switching sides every ten seconds. It was like we were pretending the kid was just home sick with the flu for a few days and not confined because by vandalism and villagers potentially out for blood.

The packet was an excuse. This whole conversation was. Kakashi wasn't even the one I really wanted to talk to today (although it was nice to see he was fine). But as the conversation went on, full of empty niceties and small talk, I just couldn't find the opening to bring up the subject I wanted to talk about. The nerve that had carried me all the way from the talk with Asuma to the knock on the Hatake household's door leaked out of me like a slowly deflating balloon.

In the end, I couldn't think of a reason to stay any longer. I had to get home before my dad figured out I was in exactly the place I wasn't supposed to be. The tea was drunk, the snacks eaten, and Kakashi's patience frayed to pieces. It was time to leave.

I cleared my throat. I had to salvage this somehow. "So, I hope Kakashi will come back to class soon, but if he won't . . ." I paused and swallowed. ". . . I don't mind getting the notes and homework for him."

Sakumo considered that for a moment, and smiled. "Thank you, Ukiyo-chan. But it's alright. Kakashi will be back in school in the next few days."

Kakashi's gaze snapped to him. "Dad!" he protested.

Sakumo laughed out loud and ruffled his son's hair, which did nothing for the latter's sudden panic. "I'll be fine! You don't need to stay cooped up with your old man all day."

"But dad, what about . . ." Kakashi stopped himself with a half-strangled sound.

"You need to get back to school. See your friends. Have some fun. You can't put everything on hold just because of my mistake." Sakumo made Kakashi's head turn slightly to look at me. "You've got a dedicated friend right here who went above and beyond for you. Cherish that. It's important."

By the look Kakashi gave me, he did not think so _in the slightest_. I suspected I might've temporarily ended my friendship with this kid. I swallowed, but refused to look away. I hadn't done anything wrong. Aside from maybe meddling a little. But hey, what are friends for?

Only now, I certainly couldn't say what I wanted to say, and my attempt at creating another chance for myself was shot down the drain. Oh, Sakumo, you're a stand-up dad, but that's really making my life hard right now.

The father-son pair escorted me back to the front door, where I put on my shoes, panic signals blaring inside my brain like a thousand fog horns. I passed the front door with my heart in my throat, pulse made quick by blind panic. My hands were shaking as they clutched the straps of my backpack.

I walked halfway to the gate, and stopped. Last chance. The door hadn't closed behind me. I could still . . .

I whirled around, face red.

"I, um, I . . ." I stuttered. I clenched my hands tighter. I met Sakumo's kind gaze.

I bowed a full ninety degrees and exclaimed.

"Thank you!" I stayed in that position for a few beats, and continued, "Thank you. For saving my dad. Thank you."

I straightened up with a snap and ran off without waiting for a reply. My cheeks were red, my eyes moist. I power-walked away, hunched over. I'd said it. I had said it. It felt like a weight was lifted off my chest.

Once I was a sufficient distance away, I stopped and exhaled deeply. I looked up to the sky, letting the tension drain out of my neck. I felt like crying. _Again_. My gosh, when had I turned into such a crybaby?

"Wait, Ukiyo!"

I turned around at the sound of Kakashi's voice. He ran up to me, most of his previous rancor cleared from his face.

"Did you mean it?" he asked bluntly.

"What? The thank you?" He nodded. "He saved my dad."

"But . . ." Kakashi looked down and I could see how anguished he really was. His fists tightened. "Because he did that, he failed the mission. It was against the rules. Everybody hates him for it."

"I don't hate him." I shook my head. How to explain this? "Kakashi, your dad said earlier that he'd made a mistake. I don't agree. Whether it was my dad or not, important mission or not, I don't think saving someone's life could _ever_ be a mistake."

"Even if it'll cause something worse to happen in the future?" Kakashi shot back.

"Good question. That's a classic moral dilemma. Do you deliberately kill the few to potentially save the many?"

"Well . . ." he hesitated.

"That was mostly rhetorical. You don't have to answer. But for me . . . I don't think lives are something you can weigh. People aren't pieces on a scale, and their lives don't have a measurable, finite value you can calculate and compare. And maybe I'm wrong, or naïve, but no one can say for sure that what _could_ have happened would have been better than what _did_. You can only judge what actually happened.

"Maybe something bad will come out of this mission; maybe nothing will. But right now, I'm just glad my dad is alive."

* * *

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	10. In Which Ukiyo Has Good Luck

True to Sakumo's word, Kakashi showed up to class two days after my visit. He was immediately mobbed by a legion of concerned classmates, and brushed them off with that classic awkwardness too often interpreted as being "too cool for school." He just didn't know how to talk to any of them. But I knew.

Gai elbowed me gently. "Way to go! Your plan was a complete success!" He held up his hand. I grinned and we high fived. Gai's high fives were excellent. Had a good ring to them.

Kakashi pointedly did not look my way as he took his seat. I think he might've still been a little mad at me for butting my way into his house. I couldn't say bringing Kakashi back had been an integral part of my plan, _per se_ , but it _was_ a nice perk. That boy's social skills would get no polishing whatsoever from sitting in a dark old house with only a tired old man and his own brain for company. So what if that might make me _persona non grata_ in his eyes for a little bit? I could live with that.

I could live with a lot of things.

Gai, however, could not. He followed Kakashi right to his seat and began pestering him for a long-overdue sparring session. Kakashi ignored Gai's spirited advances right until the teacher came in and barked at him to get back in his seat. Gai made a face, but I doubted any of this discouraged him. If anything, adversity would only toughen him up. He sat next to me, positively burning with enthusiasm.

Classes resumed as normal. All was well.

Except it wasn't.

Not really.

My dad . . . was acting a little off lately. He wasn't going out much, or doing anything, really. Most of the time he was locked in the study. I didn't see much of him. It was a good thing, in a way, while I was getting the Kakashi situation taken care of, but now I was starting to worry a little bit.

One morning about a week after Kakashi had come back to school, I was packing my bag when my dad emerged from the study. The skin under his eyes was a deep purple. He seemed to have gotten no sleep. Without saying a word, he put some coffee on. I neatly stacked my textbooks in the order I would need them that day and slipped them inside my bag. My lunch was next – rice balls I'd made myself. Not as nice as Kakashi's, certainly not that neat triangular shape you looked for in a rice ball, but he had managed to show me a few things while I was staying at his house. These were perfectly adequate rice balls. Who says you can't teach an old dog new trick?

My dad sipped his coffee as I slipped my shoes on and hauled my bag over my shoulders. He came up to me just as I was about to leave. He ruffled my hair, and said,

"Have a good day. Study hard, okay kiddo?" He grinned, and it was like the tired look on his face disappeared completely.

I grinned back. I puffed my chest out.

"They're announcing the rankings today. If I'm in the top five, I want ice cream for dinner!"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Sure thing. Sure thing, Ukiyo."

I twirled around and opened the door. "I'm heading out!" I called over my shoulder.

"Have a safe trip!" I heard my dad call back.

I stepped outside and felt a cold droplet plop on my nose. I looked up, hand held out. I caught a few drops on my palm. The sky was a deep, dark gray.

' _Looks like it's going to rain today,'_ I thought.

* * *

That day was pretty average – except for the ranking announcement.

This school had a very strange way of doing things, in my westernized opinion. Halfway through the semester, it took the grades for each students up to and including the midterms, and ranked everyone in the same grade regardless of class. And then publically posted the results. On a fancy-shmancy board and everything.

Which meant that there was a crowd in the second floor hallway, clustering about the white board proudly announcing the rankings in neat black characters. Frankly, I thought this kind of thing was bizarre. What was the point of publically displaying how well and how badly everyone was doing? Shouldn't that kind of thing be private? Or was it an attempt to shame the lowest performing students? I didn't think public shaming was a particularly productive way of improving scores, myself.

Unfortunately, my views on educational policy weren't even remotely taken into account, and I couldn't just ignore the scores because there was an ice cream dinner on the line, so I waded through the crowd until I could scan the list of first years.

Oh. Would you look at that? I was first.

I couldn't take much pride it that. I was up against five and six year olds. I was expecting _at least_ top three. It would have just been embarrassing otherwise. I suspected (knew) my rank would have been lower if they took taijutsu classes into account, but they wouldn't do that until the second year. So, on pure book smarts, I was better than Kakashi. Given the scores, not by much – but better nonetheless.

I didn't quite know how to feel about that. There was this one big difference between the two of us – he was _actually_ _five_. If he could keep up with me now, then he would blow me out of the water by the time puberty hit. His mental faculties would only increase as he grew older. Mine had probably already stagnated. I didn't see how I would get any better than I already was – not that I had much to complain about. I'd been a college-educated professional in my past life and most of that seemed to have carried over. I was plenty smart. Or maybe I _would_ get better. Maybe my brain would develop beyond what it had been in my past life, and I would become some kind of genius?

I snorted out loud at the thought. Yeah, right. Me. A genius.

"You're first," came a dry voice next to me.

I turned to see Kakashi, looking up at the board with a bit of a frown.

"You're second," I replied.

His unamused gaze rotated over to me. His eyebrow rose.

"What?" I said. "I thought we were stating the obvious."

"This is proof."

"Proof of what?"

"That you're not stupid."

I rolled my eyes. Not this again. "I _could_ be stupid."

"No," he said with a tinge of irritation. "You're _not_. If you were, you wouldn't be first. Or be able to use chakra. Stop _saying_ that."

Stupidity or smartness is relative. Just because I could ace a few elementary school tests did not make me smart. What he was picking up on was a mismatch between mental and physical age – not actual intellectual ability. Frankly, I was getting tired of this conversation.

"I'll tell you what. In ten years, tell me again."

"If you're stupid or not?"

"If I'm stupid or not. In ten years, look at me again and make that call. Whatever you say, I'll take it."

"Why?" He challenged.

I sighed. "Because it's not fair right now."

"How so?"

"I can't explain. It just isn't. So like I said. Wait ten years."

"Hm," he grunted, and looked back up at the board. Everyone else had gone off to class by now. The bell would ring soon. Just as I was about to leave, I heard him mutter, almost plaintively,

"Are you _ever_ going to start making sense . . ?"

I pretended I hadn't heard, and skipped off towards the classroom, very much looking forward to my ice cream dinner.

* * *

Today was turning out to be a pretty decent day – I'd gotten a good ranking, my rice balls were delicious, Gai gave me some mochi he and his dad had made, Kurenai braided my hair for me, and we all helped Asuma with some math stuff he'd had trouble with on the midterm. During lunch break I got to commandeer the blackboard and play teacher, with Kurenai as my assistant – even if I needed a stool and the extra-long teacher's baton thing to reach high enough.

Until Taijutsu class came.

We were practicing punches and kicks today. The routine was simple; after warming up (stretches, runs, a bit of strength-training), we were assigned to a post each, and instructed to hit it a certain number of times, in theory to build up . . . strength? Coordination? Speed? I honestly had no clue what the actual purpose of this exercise was, because I didn't like doing it one bit.

It was tiring, repetitive, and boring. Also, I had no idea how hard I was supposed to go at it. Doing it too hard seemed like a terrible idea, and a good way to accumulate bruises and scrapes. So I settled for hitting as softly as I could, focusing on my form.

I stood, feet solidly planted, rotated my hips and round-house kicked the post. My foot tapped the wood, muscles straining. I brought it back down. Resettled my stance. Rinse and repeat. This was the way I usually did it, and found it was actually a good way to build muscle. Keeping my leg up in the proper form and controlling the motion took more strength than relying on momentum.

The teacher came over and observed me going through this slow, careful routine a few times.

"Ukiyo-chan, your form is good. But you need to hit harder. Try it."

I looked back at him a little dubiously. Well, if the teacher said it . . .

I kicked a little harder.

"Harder. Put your whole body into it."

A little bit harder. The wood _thunked_ and I nearly lost my balance, staggering back.

"Better. Try again."

I briefly caught Kakashi's eyes on me from where he stood, until I gathered myself up and glared at the post. This was starting to get irritating. I kicked again, harder than ever before. But it still wasn't enough. I still wasn't doing it properly!

A stab of annoyance went through my gut. My eyes narrowed, I planted my feet, lifted my leg, twisted my hip and _slammed_ my foot unto the post so hard the wood shattered. An ominous _crack_ snapped through the air. I wasn't sure it was the wood.

My other foot slipped and my rear hit the ground.

"Ukiyo-chan, that was good! Are you alright?" The teacher helped me up.

"Ye . . ." My reply froze the moment I put weight on my left foot. _Oh dear_. Oh dear oh dear oh dear . . .

Of course it didn't hurt, but I'd broken enough bones to know what that feeling meant. A peculiar weakness. A barely noticeable _grinding_. Numbness. Oh dear. I looked down. I was wearing leggings and socks with my sandals, so it wasn't visible, but I could feel the strap tightening. Oh, it was swelling, wasn't it? Oh dear oh dear . . .

I panicked.

And yelled, "Ow!"

"Ukiyo-chan? What's wrong?"

"My . . . my ankle hurts . . ." I swallowed. Inside, I was screaming. How do you fake pain?! How much pain should I fake?! How did I not know how to do this already?!

The teacher looked down. "Well, it looks like you can put weight on it, so you should be fine. Do you want to rest for a bit?"

I belatedly realized that I'd never actually lifted my foot up, which I should have done, because anyone with half a functioning brain would know that putting one's full weight on a broken ankle was not a good idea. But I couldn't very well do it now unless I wanted to make it look like I was faking, so I weakly nodded, screaming internally.

"Sensei,"

I looked up at the sound of Kakashi's voice. He was coming over to us.

"I should take her to the nurse, just in case."

The teacher looked taken aback. "You shouldn't worry about that, Kakashi-kun. She'll be fine. It's most likely just some bruising . . ."

"What if it's not? She shouldn't keep training until she sees the nurse. It's irresponsible for a shinobi to ignore an injury."

Kakashi's utterly self-assured and deadpan tone hid the fact that he was speaking nonsense with only the barest grain of truth. I didn't think an injury of the caliber the teacher imagined warranted this much fuss . . . but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I . . . it really hurts," I said in a small voice.

The teacher looked from me to Kakashi and back again. Finally, he sighed. "Alright, you two. Get going."

Another kid pipped up in a bored drone, "Senseeeeei! My hand hurts! Can I go see . . ."

"No it doesn't, Genma-kun. Get back to work."

As the teacher turned to deal with the unhappy chorus rising up among the class, Kakashi ushered me over.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah." He looked at me suspiciously. "I'm fine," I argued.

He just rolled his eyes and we walked back to the schoolhouse.

The infirmary was empty. No nurse. Kakashi sighed deeply and motioned to a chair.

"Sit down. Take your shoes and socks off."

I did as I was told while he rustled through a few cabinets in search of supplies.

I made a face as the sock came off. I rolled my legging up to my knee. The skin was turning purplish-blue clear from the top of my foot to half-way up my shin. My ankle was swelling up. It really wasn't pretty. I rolled it around. Kinda stiff. I sat still, waiting for Kakashi to turn his attention back to me.

He turned around, holding bandages and a cold pack, and froze. His gaze fixated on my leg.

" . . . Doesn't that hurt?"

I laughed awkwardly. ". . . Kinda? A lot?"

"You _are_ an idiot!" He burst out. "If it hurts that much, say something!" He grabbed a stool and set it in front of me. Though he was visibly angry, he was gentle as he lifted my leg and elevated it on the stool. "I can't believe you were going to keep training like this! Your ankle could be broken!"

He kept on ranting as he placed the ice pack over my ankle. I let him talk, transfixed. This might've been the first time I'd seen him this angry. Or at least his vocal about it.

Kakashi glared. "What are you smiling about?"

". . . I'm, um, ticklish?"

His face flushed in anger. "You . . . you . . . idiot!" He burst out again. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I kind of figured I could wait until class was over . . . or something," I lied awkwardly.

Kakashi gave me the mother of all eye rolls and set about wrapping my ankle.

"Well," he grumbled. "Since you can put your weight on it, I _guess_ it's not broken . . ."

Oh no, Kakashi, it was definitely broken, but you thinking it isn't is going to make my life a lot easier.

". . . it's probably a sprain . . ."

Possibly that too. The two aren't mutually exclusive.

". . . so if you just stay off it and ice it . . ."

That's the plan.

". . . you should be fine."

He sighed, tucking in the loose end of the bandage, and looked up at me. "I'm impressed by your pain tolerance, if nothing else. But you're still an idiot."

I grinned and pointed. "Hah! I told you so! I told you!"

I actually _heard_ him grind his teeth. "You _said_ I had ten years."

"Oh, right."

He clicked his tongue and stood up. "I'm going to tell the teacher you're going home. Wait for me." He opened the door, stopped, turned around and pointed. "Don't. Move! And keep your foot up."

And with that, he disappeared. I looked out the window, to the outside where the wind was blowing harder. A few drops pattered against the glass and slid down to the windowsill. The room was suddenly much darker. A faint chill went through me. My fingers tightened on the edge of my chair. The bandage wrapped on my ankle didn't cover all over the bruises. I rolled my legging down so I didn't have to look at them anymore.

The door rattled open. I jumped.

"Oy, we're going."

" . . . We?"

* * *

About five minutes later, and I was experiencing what had to crack the top ten in my all-time list of embarrassing experiences. Funny how most of these seemed to involve Kakashi these days. Getting a piggy-back ride from a five year old. Mortifying.

He walked in silence down the empty street while I clung to his back; it was mid-afternoon, but there was hardly any light at all. The wind whipped back and forth, smelling like freshly-churned dirt.

There wasn't anything for us to talk about, and Kakashi still seemed angry at me. Even though I would've been just fine without his help . . . it's not like I would've died or anything, or been in any discomfort at all. I could've just hidden it until it healed. But then again, I couldn't really reprimand him for helping me when I'd been just as nosy.

We passed the commercial district and headed down the road to the more rural neighborhood where we both lived. Usually at this time of day there were people working in the rice paddies lining the road, but today there was nobody. It was eerie.

Thunder rumbled overhead. My heart dropped. My hand tightened on Kakashi's shoulder and I forced myself to look up.

"Kakashi . . ." I started, but before I could finish there was a flash, a quick zigzagging filament of blue running across the dark gray clouds, and the sky split open.

Heavy rain came in a stinging downpour, and within seconds we were both soaked through. Kakashi readjusted his grip on my legs and took off running. He splashed through the quickly forming puddles, going as fast as he could. I couldn't see anything, between the wind, the rain, the speed at which we were going, and the darkness punctuated irregularly with flashes of blue.

Suddenly Kakashi stopped and dropped me. I staggered, hand tightening on his shoulder, and tried to keep my balance because I did not want to end up sitting in a muddy puddle. I heard him fiddle awkwardly with something, and heard a metallic creak. The fence. I squinted and saw a large shadow – a building? Kakashi's house!

He quickly went up to the door and unlocked it. I followed inside and we collapsed in the entryway, breathing hard, soaked to the bone. Kakashi shivered, and shut the door. The deafening sounds of thunder and rain pounding into dirt and stone were muted so suddenly my ears rang. Everything was too quiet all of a sudden. Like there was a thick layer of cotton over my ears.

But it was still dark. I blinked water out of my eyes. The lights weren't on.

"Wait here, I'll get some towels," he said, pulling off his shoes. He shook himself a little in a vain effort to get some of the water off. It didn't work. It only made him look a little like a dog.

I stayed put, and removed my own shoes. Every square inch of clothing I wore was wet, and clung unpleasantly to my skin. I wrung out my dress over the entryway, silently promising to help clean up later. I was cold, too. I sneezed, and sniffled. The braid Kurenai had made for me stuck, limp, to the back of my neck.

I waited. I couldn't hear Kakashi moving anymore; in a house this small, and this old, you usually heard every creak. What was taking so long?

"Kakashi?" I called out.

I didn't want to step on the tatami mats while I was soaked like this.

"Kakashi?" I called again.

The house was silent. All I heard were the muffled sounds of rain.

I stepped into the hallway. I quickly looked in the bathroom, then the kitchen. No one. The only place left was the living room. I crossed the hall. The sliding doors were open. I saw him standing there, facing away from me.

"Kakash . . ."

Lightning flashed and my voice died. Kakashi was standing over a prone body. The brief light from the storm lit upon a smear of red; glinted off a kunai; backlit Kakashi's form so that it looked like a black paper cutout.

Kakashi wasn't moving. A pile of towels lay discarded on the floor. He was just . . . standing there. So was I.

Until lightning flashed again a few seconds later and thunder rumbled, shaking me down to the bone. I sprang into action.

I smacked the light switch as I ran in. I pushed Kakashi aside and rolled Sakumo onto his back. Blood poured from a wound in his stomach. I didn't let the realization of what this meant into my head; everything seemed to be going too fast, my mind kicking into overdrive.

"Kakashi, call for help!" I yelled as I grabbed the towels and pressed down on the wound. I didn't know how deep it was, or how long since . . . but the blood looked fresh. It welled up and soaked through the towel, warm and sticky on my fingers. I pressed harder.

I didn't hear anything. I . . . couldn't hear anything.

I whipped around. Kakashi was still standing there, and I was about to yell again when I saw his face for the first time.

Kakashi was looking down at his father with an expression of object horror. He was shocked into immobility, near catatonic, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Kakashi!" I yelled.

He didn't seem to hear me. I could barely see him breathing. I looked back down at Sakumo, at the blood on the towel, my fingers, his clothes, the tatami mat. I gritted my teeth.

And then I remembered, or maybe it was simply that I'd never fully grasped it before, that Kakashi was a child and I wasn't.

' _I'm sorry."_ I thought, bitterly. But this wasn't the time to be kind.

I quickly stood up and grabbed Kakashi's hand, hauling him bodily over to his father, forced him to his knees and pressed his hands down over the towel.

"Keep pressing. Don't let up," I said bluntly and ran off.

Down the hall, skidding so fast around the corner I crashed into the opposite wall, to the entrance, out across the flagstones and the gate that never got closed, into the street where it was still pouring rain and I couldn't see a thing, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of my lungs,

"SOMEBODY HEEEEELP!"

My cry dissolved into the storm. I tried again, louder, as loud as I possibly could. My voice broke and I gasped for breath, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and whirled around to come face to face with a few adults from the neighborhood.

"Sakumo's badly hurt! Call the medics!" I yelled.

One of the men blinked down at me, then quickly looked over to the house. And then his face twisted in hatred.

"Who'd help that traitor?" he spat.

"Oy, that's not . . ." His companion said.

"He's a disgrace! He deserves . . ."

I didn't hear the rest because all sound seemed to have been cut off. A deep chill ran through me, toes to fingertips, and on its heels hot rage. A crowd had assembled by now, a sea of umbrellas and faceless people staring at us under the rain. A faint muttering went through them.

"So you're going to let him die?" I said, and bit my lip. I glared up at the men whose argument was stopped clean by the venom in my words. "Who's the traitor now? What kind of human being are you that you'd let a man die and a son become an orphan when you could have done something?"

"Listen, you . . ."

I raised my voice. "If you let him die I will _personally_ ," I spat out the word, "Make sure you never live a peaceful day again. I will end you, you piece of shit. Mark my words, his death will be on _you_."

Shocked into silence, the man could only gape. His companion gritted his teeth, shook his head.

"Call the medics! HURRY UP!" He roared. A few forms took off.

I stood, fuming, fists tight and wet, still glaring murderously at the man.

I checked myself. I didn't have time for this. I couldn't leave Kakashi on his own. I bolted back to the house.

Kakashi was where I'd left him. Staring down at the bloody towels I'd made him press into, just staring at all that red. I dropped to my knees opposite him and put my hands over his. I silently cursed. He was hardly putting any pressure at all. He didn't have the strength.

I pressed down as hard as I could.

"The medics are coming. It's going to be alright. They're coming to help. Kakashi? Can you hear me?" I glanced up at him. No reaction. Still that gut-wrenchingly horrified stare. I kept on talking. "Hey, Kakashi? It's Ukiyo. I'm here. You're not alone. You're going to get through this, you're both strong, you know that right? Your dad is so strong. He's a hero. He saved my dad. He's going to be fine. I'm here. Kakashi. I'm here."

My voice turned into a soft croon as I pressed down, over his hands, over the towel, over the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. Our faces were barely a few inches apart. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his.

He was cold.

"It's going to be alright. Kakashi. I'm here. I'm here for you. Trust me. I'm going to fix this. I promise.

"I'm here. You're here.

"It's going to be alright."

* * *

The medics came. Kakashi and I were pushed back as they worked, a flurry of calls and movements and actions I couldn't quite make sense of. They hooked Sakumo up to a blood transfusion, wrapped him up in a quick bandage, hauled him onto a stretcher and carried him out the door. Everything passed by in a chaotic whirlwind.

During the whole thing I stayed with Kakashi by the wall, holding his hand. He was clinging so tightly my hand had turned numb. I didn't mind.

Once Sakumo was gone, one of the medics came and squatted down to talk to us. He had a clipboard, and some kind of document. His eyes flashed between the two of us, before settling on me.

"We're taking him to the hospital. Can I get his name, and yours?"

"Hatake Sakumo," I said mechanically, although I was sure he knew that already. "My name is Fujimi Ukiyo. This is Hatake Kakashi. His son."

The medic made a note. "Ukiyo-chan, how old are you?"

"Five. We're both five."

He tried for a reassuring smile. "You've been very brave. I need to ask you a few more questions. When did you find Hatake-san?"

I gave him the story as best I could. Time didn't seem to work quite right anymore, so I couldn't say how much time had passed between the moment we found him and the moment the medics got on the scene. I told him how we'd applied pressure, with the towels.

The medic nodded. "Alright. Thank you. You've been very helpful, Ukiyo-chan." He patted my head.

"Can we come visit him?" I asked quickly.

The medic hesitated. "He'll be in surgery . . ."

"Kakashi should be there when he wakes up. Please."

The medic looked at me, then at Kakashi. He nodded. "I'll let them know you're coming."

We were left alone. The blood was drying on the floor, in a big stain on the tatami, and on us. Our linked hands were stuck together by clotted blood.

I tugged on Kakashi's hand. "Kakashi?"

He was still out of it. Still staring ahead.

"Kakashi, we're going to go to the hospital. We're going to see your dad. Okay?"

No answer. I took a deep breath, and looked down at the both of us. We were covered in blood, and our clothes were still damp. We couldn't go like this.

I tugged on his hand. "Kakashi, we're going to get cleaned up."

I gently pulled him towards the kitchen. Getting him to let go of my hand was an ordeal. I had to pry each finger off one by one until I was free to hunt down the stepping stools.

I washed our hands in the sink, scrubbing his hands and mine free of blood. Our palms, fingernail beds, wrists. The water turned pink.

"Kakashi, we're going to get changed. You don't want your dad to see you all covered in blood, right?"

I left him in the living room while I hunted for clothes for the two of us, as quickly as I could.

"Kakashi, stand up. I'm going to take off your shirt. Okay?"

No answer. I lifted his shirt, and tugged up. He lifted his arms obediently. The shirt came off. The black undershirt he wore, which connected to his mask, didn't have any blood on it, so I got the clean black tee-shirt on him. Changing his pants was a little trickier, but he responded to simple commands like 'lift your foot,' or 'hold on to me.'

I balled up the bloody clothes and threw them in the bathroom. I changed next, into a gray long-sleeved-shirt and short black pants like the ones he wore every day. I tossed my dress, leggings, and jacket in with the rest.

I looked him over. He was clean, the blood was gone, but that _look_ remained.

"Kakashi? We're going now. Are you okay to walk?"

I waited. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. I smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "Okay. Let's go."

I helped him put his shoes and socks on, and put his scarf around his neck. Only when I sat down to slide my own sandals on did I remember my ankle. I paused. The bandage and the bruises seemed to stare up at me.

I snapped the straps in place. I'd worry about it later.

I grabbed the umbrella sitting in the entryway and led Kakashi outside. It was already nighttime, and the rain hadn't let up. Now that my hand was back in his, there was no way he'd be letting go any time soon. We walked to the hospital together. I kept him close by me so he wouldn't get wet.

The neon lighting felt very bright. I blinked, momentarily blinded, before I went up to the reception and asked to see Sakumo. The lady behind the desk opened her mouth to say something, looked down at her papers, and closed it. She called someone in to guide us.

The medic led us through the hospital and into small nook with one side open, a few benches and no people. We were told to wait.

We sat down. Kakashi still held on tight to my hand. I stared straight ahead at the blank wall.

I don't know how long we waited. There was no clock. My mind was dull and empty. I was tired. The adrenaline had worn off. I was just so tired. Kakashi held on tightly to my hand. It felt like a spring in my chest was getting wound tighter and tighter. I swallowed.

How long had it been?

I was thirsty. I wanted to go and get something to drink, but I didn't want to make Kakashi let go of my hand again.

A nurse came and gave us water. I thanked her. Kakashi, staring dully ahead, didn't move. I drunk.

We waited.

And footsteps came again. I looked up, to see a man in scrubs and a surgical mask pulled down around his neck.

"Hatake Kakashi?"

I snapped my head up. "Yes," I blurted. "He is, I mean."

"Your father is out of surgery. He's recovering now."

"How is he?" I asked.

The doctor's eyes slid to me. "He's . . . not doing badly. He's awake."

"What does that mean?"

"He lost a lot of blood. Had we gotten him in any later, he wouldn't have made it. You're Ukiyo-chan, correct?"

"Yes," I said. "Can he see his father now?"

The doctor nodded. "He's still a little groggy, but you can go in and sit with him."

I nudged Kakashi. "Kakashi, did you hear that? Your dad's alright. Let's go see him."

Kakashi stared at me for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, for the first time since I'd found him standing over his father's body, I saw a spark in his eyes.

"Ukiyo. Dad is . . ."

"Yes. He's okay. Come on!" I pulled him to his feet. I forced myself to smile brightly, and pulled him after the doctor.

As we approached Sakumo's room, more and more signs of life flowed into Kakashi. His grip flexed, his walk grew eager, his expression lost that horrible blankness and gained a desperate kind of hope. And then he was practically running and I was the one being dragged behind.

"Third room from the back," the doctor said, and Kakashi burst forward. His hand let go of mine and he ran into the room, out of sight. I jogged a little, before slowing down and falling back to walk alongside the doctor. I stopped when he did, a few feet away, and looked up at him.

He was looking down at me, gravely.

"I was told that you acted quickly to help Hatake-san. That you were the one who put pressure on his wounds, and called for help."

I nodded.

"You're attending the Academy, aren't you?" I nodded again and he smiled, crouching down so he was eye-level. He patted my head. "If he had lost any more blood, he wouldn't have made it. Your quick thinking saved his life. You're going to be a great shinobi."

I thought about my day, and the events that had led me there. Breaking my ankle, Kakashi getting angry, the rain. What would have happened if we'd gotten out of school on time? If I hadn't been there?

Suddenly a wave of euphoria went through me. I laughed weakly and said,

"It was just luck. I was just lucky to have been there on time."

On the heels of euphoria burning anger quickly came. Because what _would_ have happened, had we not gotten extremely lucky, was Hatake Sakumo committing suicide. When I thought about that horrible look on Kakashi's face and the way his hand felt clinging desperately to mine, all I wanted to do was barge in there and sock Sakumo in the face because _who does that to their kid?!_

I lurked alone outside the hospital room while Kakashi was in there. I wanted to make sure he was alright. I fretted and paced.

Before I could work myself up too much, the door slid open. Kakashi stepped out, looking more or less normal, but with red-rimmed eyes. He didn't meet my gaze.

"Dad wants to see you," he said gruffly. My joy at hearing him string a full sentence was enough to disregard the tone he said it in. "I'm going to get water."

He stalked off quickly, and I saw his quickly wipe at his eyes. He sniffed, as quietly as he could.

I turned my attention back to the room. My hands flexed and my joints popped. I had things I wanted to say. I had things I wanted to _do_ , none of which were appropriate to do to a gravely injured person.

I stomped into the room, and didn't stop until I was right up to the bed. I glared up at Sakumo.

His face looked like death. He was pale, with deep bags under his eyes. He lay back with his left arm hooked to an IV. A heart monitor beeped steadily. His eyes were sunken in and dull, but he still attempted the ghost of a smile when he saw me.

"Ukiyo-chan . . ."

"Don't you smile at me," I cut him off. "And don't you call me that."

Taken aback, his jaw snapped shut. He suddenly realized just with how much venom I was glaring at him, my teeth grinding together, my fists tight.

"Listen here," I said. "I don't care why you did it. I don't care. But if you _ever_ do anything like that again . . . if you _dare_ to try and leave Kakashi alone again, I will hunt you down to whatever pit you end up in and _personally_ make you pay. That's not a threat, it's a promise."

Screw sounding like a kid. Adult to adult, this was _not right_.

"You can't leave him like that. You're his father. He needs you."

"He . . ." Sakumo looked down, eyes dark. He was wallowing in despair. "He'd be better off without me. The disgrace . . . The shame over what I did can only be cleared by my death. It'll follow him, too. I couldn't live with myself knowing that."

I was dumbstruck. What _was it_ with the adults here?! "Shame? Is that why you did it? Do you honestly think Kakashi would be better off with you dead? You can't be serious."

"You don't understand, the _shame_ . . ."

"Screw the shame!" I yelled. He jolted and looked directly at me. I reigned my voice in and continued. "If you want to atone, then _live_. Think of it as punishment, if you want. But take care of your damn kid. For the love of God, I shouldn't be the one to tell you this!" I swallowed. "You can't leave him. You can't. I will _not_ let you do that to him.

"For God's sake, pull yourself together. You're a shinobi. If you ever start thinking he'd be better off without you, or like you can't live with yourself, look your son in the eye and _think again_."

I took a deep breath. I was so angry I wanted to cry. I was shaking.

I stood there for a few long minutes, while Sakumo stared at his hands. Was he even processing what I was saying to him? I was absolutely serious when I said I'd hunt him down wherever he ended up. I had an in with God's representative, that boy who'd messed up my reincarnation, and I was dead sure he still felt bad enough about it to be bullied into doing me a favor.

Sakumo closed his eyes and fisted his hands into the thin cover.

". . . Thank you, Ukiyo," he said.

"What for?" I snapped.

He laughed weakly. "I think . . . that everything got the best of me. The guilt, and the shame. I haven't been able to use ninjutsu since I got back." He was half-talking to himself. "It all seemed so dark and hopeless, and I couldn't bear the thought of dragging Kakashi down with me. So, thank you. For taking care of my boy. I know I can rely on you to look after him."

"Don't thank me. That's _your_ job. Don't push it off on other people and expect everything to work out. It's not fair."

"You're right. It's not fair of me." Then he looked at me, briefly, and did a double-take. His eyes widened, and he looked at me like he was realizing something for the first time. "My gosh. You're only five. I think I forgot that for a moment."

I shrugged sullenly. He was staring at me, with something resembling horror, seemingly realizing for the first time that he was spilling heavy secrets to a child.

"Oh, Ukiyo, I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I shouldn't have said all that . . ."

"Save it," I cut him off. "All I want from you is a promise. Promise me you're not going to leave him alone."

"I . . ." He swallowed. And went silent.

"Fine," I said bitterly. "But remember. I won't forgive you if you do."

I turned around to leave. I paused with my hand on the door handle when I heard him say,

"Thank you, Ukiyo."

I slammed the door open and walked out. I slammed it shut. Breathing hard, I stomped over to a bench set against the wall and kicked it. It only made my frustration worse, because I couldn't kick as hard as I wanted, because my foot was broken!

"Ukiyo?"

I froze and turned around. Kakashi was standing there, staring at me. His eyes quickly went to my foot, then back up, and away.

"Sorry about all this," he mumbled. "I'll see you in school?"

And just like that, like a deflated balloon, all my anger was gone. I strode over to him and smiled.

"Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything."

He nodded. He still looked down and out, the remnants of _that_ expression in the lines beneath his bloodshot eyes.

I reached out, pulled him in by the back of his head and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

He sputtered and stumbled back when I let him go, flushed red but the look wiped by an embarrassed glare.

"What was that for?"

I crossed my arms behind my back, rocked on my heels and grinned. "No reason. Just felt like it."

He grumbled and turned away. The tips of his ears were red. How cute.

"I'm gonna head home. I know my dad's gotta be worried."

"Yeah . . . Bye."

"Bye-bye!"

I waved goodbye as I walked backwards down the hall, not stopping until he rolled his eyes and disappeared in his dad's room. I twirled around on one foot and set out.

I collected the umbrella from the reception and headed home. I knew I was going to get scolded for behind so late, and probably for getting involved with the Hatake family, but I couldn't bring myself to care. There was a lightness in my chest, a sense of pure relief that made it so that nothing could bring me down.

I'd probably have to kiss my ice cream dinner bye-bye though. Oh, well. There'd be more.

I walked home in the rain, splashing in the puddles. It wasn't as heavy now, and the night lights were on, so it was relatively easy going forward.

Overall, I was tremendously glad because I had been lucky. Sakumo was okay, for now at least. Kakashi wasn't alone.

Oh, but someone would have to clean up the living room. And my clothes were ruined. I'd left my bag over there, too. But all of that could wait until tomorrow.

I made it home and walked up to the front door with a spring in my steps. I opened it.

"I'm home!" I called out.

Nobody answered. The lights were off. I switched the hallway light on and checked the clock. I gasped at the time. It was nearly nine in the evening! My dad must be worried sick. He was probably out there looking for me.

I took my shoes off and walked into the house, switching on all the lights as I went. So when he came home, he'd know I was here waiting.

I stopped when I got to the living room. There was a strange smell. I walked in, and switched the light on.

My arms dropped to my side.

All I could feel was this odd numbness spreading over me, that I was powerless to fight. My eyes took in each detail, one by one.

The grey Haori, the clan crest on the back facing me. The sword tossed to the side. The deep, rust-red blood on the carpet. The smell.

I knew immediately that there was nothing I could do. It'd been too long.

He was sitting proudly on his knees. He hadn't fallen, and death had frozen him in place.

I turned around. Walked out of the living room. Slowly, through the hallway. The smell was everywhere. It reeked. I opened the door. Smelled wet grass and stone. Stepped out. The ground cold under my bare feet, wet. Closed it behind me. Did the same with the front gate. Leaned against the fence and slid down as my knees gave out.

The rain was still falling. Feeling nothing, I gathered my knees up and hugged them to my chest.


	11. In Which There is Gray, White, Violet

Rain pattered on my umbrella. It glistened down the smooth grey surface of the tombstone. Beaded on flower petals, white and violet.

The service was wrapping up. A chorus of whispers rose behind me. I stared at the stone and the flowers. Gray, white, violet.

A lot of people had come. Gai and his father, Dai, who'd found me on one of their morning runs, sitting in front of my house; soaked through, and unable to utter a word. Kurenai and her parents, who'd known my mom and dad; Asuma and his family; it was hazy, but I thought he and Kurenai had been the first to barge into my hospital room, frantic with worry. A number of other people I didn't know and only recognized by their clan crests, who gave me their condolences with pitying eyes. The Hokage had performed the ceremony, which I thought was ironic given that my dad wasn't given a place on the Memorial Stone. He hadn't died for the village.

The service was over. The Hokage was gone, leaving final words I didn't process, and people were beginning to scatter home.

"Are you ready to go?"

I looked up at the tall figure next to me. The teenager whose house I'd been staying in for the past few days – the one with the scars on his face and the spiky hair who'd come by my house a few times before. His name was Nara Shikaku. He lived in a large traditional mansion in the western district. The inner garden had a nice koi pond. In the few days between the discovery and the funeral, I'd spent a lot of time staring at the swimming fish, while the world rotated around me.

Nara-san was nice. Cold, but nice. He didn't talk to me much, except to tell me where I needed to be and when I needed to eat. But he mostly left me alone. I stared a multicolored fish swirling like clouds in the water, and when, after an uncertain amount of time, he gave me a black outfit to put on, I did so without comment.

Gray, white, violet. Raindrop tipping off my umbrella and rolling down my hand.

I blinked up at him.

A commotion broke out back where the crowd was thinning out. Nara-san turned around and his face creased in a deep frown.

"I swear, some people . . ." he muttered, and hurried towards the source.

I took one last look at the stone and the wet flowers. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I took a deep breath. I looked up beyond the curved edge of my umbrella at the raindrops falling like light-tipped spears from a sky that almost glowed with filtered sunlight.

The commotion was getting louder. I turned around.

Sakumo was there. He was haggard but standing strong, holding Kakashi back with one arm. Nara-san was trying to calm down a man I vaguely recognized, who was yelling and shaking his fist.

". . . dare you! How dare you show your face here!"

"Yamanaka-san, knock it off!" Nara-san said, putting himself bodily in front of him. "What's the point of doing this now?"

The man tried to push his way past him. "It's your fault! If it wasn't for you Fujimi-san would still be alive! How can you show your face here after what you did? Don't you have any shame?!"

The crowd muttered assents; one person yelled "That's right!", and another "Traitor!"

Kakashi's eyes hardened and his fists were clenched so hard they trembled. He tried to launch himself forward but Sakumo pushed him behind as he stood and took the brunt of the man's words. In one hand, he held a single white lily.

"Dad!" Kakashi protested.

The man shoved past Nara-san and stalked forward with his fist rising. I ran. My umbrella tumbled to the ground.

"You should have died! You should've been the one . . . You should be dead, this should be _your_ funeral, and yet you have the _gall_ to . . ."

"You're the one with no shame," I said, loud enough to be heard over the crowd. The man halted, fist ready to strike. I walked the last few steps and stared straight up at him.

"This is a funeral," I said, my voice ice-cold.

His eyes widened in shock. "You . . ."

I cut him off. "This is my father's funeral," I repeated, spine rod-straight. "Don't use it as an excuse to air out a grudge. It's disgraceful. If you're going to insist on fighting, I'll have to ask you to leave."

It was silent, save for the rain. The man, deflated, lowered his fist and turned his face away with a grimace. I stared at him steadily until he turned around and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

"Would anyone else like to comment on whose funeral it should've been?" I asked to no one in particular. There was no answer.

I felt Kakashi's stare on me, though I didn't turn to face him. Sakumo's head was still held down.

The crowd began to dissipate completely. Nara-san held his umbrella over me.

"Ukiyo-kun, we're going," he said.

He put his hand on my shoulder and ushered me forward. I went obediently.

"Wait!"

I stopped. Nara-san looked over his shoulder and did a double-take.

"Sakumo-san?" He said, shocked.

I turned around. Sakumo was on his knees in the wet grass, face bowed low to the ground. Kakashi had one hand held out like he wanted to stop him.

I walked the few steps over to them, leaving the shelter of the umbrella.

Sakumo spoke. "I know I don't have the right to ask for your forgiveness . . . I know it's presumptuous and selfish of me to try . . . but I . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Kakashi's face twisted in anguish as he watched his father bow his head. The single lily lay on the ground in front of him.

"If there was anything I could do to make amends . . . if my life was enough then I . . ."

I saw the raw fear in Kakashi's eyes.

"Dad! Don't say that!" He cried out. He tugged on his father's arm. "Stand up! You don't need to do this! This wasn't your . . ." His eyes flashed to me as if remembering I was here.

I knelt down and picked up the flower.

"Sakumo-san," I said in a soft voice, turning it over in my hand. Not once did I meet their eyes. "You've got it all wrong. You've got nothing to apologize for. You saved my dad, didn't you? You saved him once. That's enough. What happened after that was his decision." I straightened up and smoothed my dress. "Thanks for coming. And for the flower."

Sakumo did not lift his head. I walked back to Nara-san and we left the cemetery, leaving the two among gray stone tablets, flowers wavering in the wind, and the ashes of the dead.

* * *

The moment I was alone, all semblance of fight drained of my body and I collapsed face-first on the futon, tired and numb. The sliding doors looking out onto the veranda and the garden had been left open to let the cool humid air flow in. By the closet sat a satchel with a few of my things. Clothes, a few books. Someone had fetched it from my house. I hadn't been back.

I didn't know what to do with myself. Distantly, I thought about all the school I was missing. All the material, all the training. Becoming a ninja seemed so far away right now, peeking through the haze brought on by the cloying summer air. I'd started this life with all the resolve in the world, but now I couldn't think of what had once been important to me, or why I had thought it so important in the first place. I was alone, again. First my mom, then my dad; that little family I'd been granted had gone away and there would be no getting it back.

All I had left were regrets. Again.

If I had noticed something was off . . . if I had been a better daughter . . . if I had gotten home earlier that day . . . if I hadn't saved . . .

I cut myself off. I could regret and rue and curse and blame myself all I wanted, but I refused to do it over saving someone's life. I would not allow myself to become that kind of person.

That I had let the thought even bud in my head made me so ashamed of myself I curled up tightly with my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible. I watched the rain drip off the roof.

Gray, white, violet; the fear in Kakashi's eyes; Sakumo covered in blood, head bowed low; my dad's haori, and a single lily.

"I guess . . . it really _is_ my fault . . ." I whispered to myself. Maybe _everything_ was my fault.

Wind chimes tinkled in the distance.

What now?

If I could just rouse myself, I knew I would find _something_ to do – it wasn't like me to let myself wallow in misery for too long. There was plenty to do. Things to learn, to occupy my brain with and push those awful thoughts away. But the reality was, I was five. Or six? Something like that. I forgot, sometimes.

What could I even realistically do?

How was I going to take care of myself? Was there a foster system, an orphanage, a child protective services? I'd never seen anything like that around here.

Could I take care of the house on my own? Would they let me? What about finances, bills, an income?

Did my parents have a mortgage? Debt?

What were their savings like? How much was my tuition, and could I even afford it?

Did my dad have life insurance? Oh, but since he'd committed suicide that was a moot point.

Did the village provide aid, in times like this? I couldn't be the only orphan running about the place, but again, since he hadn't died on a mission, it was doubtful I was eligible.

The first thing to do would be to get my hands on all the paperwork . . . bills, deeds, payment slips . . . wait, did this place even have a banking system? I'd never seen anyone use a credit card. Was it all cash based? If so, that would be a problem if my parents hadn't kept a decent paper trail. It was pretty easy to overspend, if you couldn't keep a watchful eye on your banking statement. And then, how were bills handled? Water, electricity, gas – were they state-run, privatized, how were payments made and how often?

In the short term, if I had a decent cash supply I'd be fine – I knew where the store was, and could cook at least well enough to keep myself alive – it was when the real bills would start coming that trouble would nip along at my heels. I was at _least_ a good six or seven years away from getting a job. I knew there was a minimum wage for genin, and subsidized housing in the city center, so that would be a viable option. If I even _made_ genin. It was a long road ahead.

It hit me then. What other choice did I viably have?

There _was_ no formal school system here aside from the ninja Academy. From what I saw, the regular citizens mostly just ran family-owned businesses, teahouses and small-scale manufacturing operations and restaurants and other various small enterprises, and people got jobs fairly young – apprenticing, usually, if not just working for the family business. This wasn't a highly advanced society with college and massive companies and service jobs and managing positions – it was a village organized around running a central economic and military business – the shinobi. Trade and business were meant to support that pillar. And I'd already figured out that any high-level position in the village administration was extremely unlikely to go to anyone but chuunin-level ninja.

Altogether, this meant that if I aspired to be anything more than a shopkeeper, or innkeeper, or artisan or craftsperson, I needed to become a ninja. If I wanted to make a living as soon as possible, I needed to become a ninja.

This wasn't simply a choice anymore. No matter how much in savings my parents had left me, it wouldn't last forever. I had to seriously think about how I was going to live my life.

I sat up abruptly. Yes. This was exactly what I needed. Paperwork and numbers and planning and organizing and folders and spreadsheets and calculations and every single variable I could feasibly control pinned under my thumb.

I needed to go home, right now.

I didn't even grab my bag. I slammed the door open and promptly smacked into someone.

Nara-san looked down at me, not very amused. I rubbed my nose and met his stare.

"The old hag wants to speak to you. Come on," he said, in his usual deadpan tone, and walked off.

I followed after a moment's consternation, skipping down the hall to catch up. "Who?"

"Nara Sumire. My mom. She's the head of the Nara clan."

"Oh." I said, my nerves beginning to crawl in my stomach. This was the first I heard about her. What could she want with me?

He sighed and scratched behind his ear. "Don't be so nervous, she's not gonna eat _you_."

Implying she'd be eating _someone_. I could guess who, going by the sullen downturn of his mouth.

"Nara-san," I started. "Um . . . why does she . . ."

"Just call me Shikaku," he interrupted. "Nara-san makes me sound old – like my mom. She's been gone for a bit, looking after the forest and the deer, or this conversation would've happened sooner. Relax."

We reached the end of a corridor. He stopped in front of two sliding doors, and looked down at me. His gaze was calculating – a little too sharp for a teenager, but not off-putting in the way Kakashi could be sometimes – just, very considering. Like he was analyzing scattered objects for consistency, or putting together a puzzle.

Without another word, he slid the door open and ushered me inside.

"Shikaku!"

" _Geh_ ," he made a strangled noise and tried to slam the door shut, but I stuck my foot back and blocked it. He shot me an incredulous stare. I returned it calmly.

' _If I'm doing this, I am_ not _doing it alone.'_

"What are you waiting for? Come on in."

He stepped in and closed the door behind us. The woman who'd spoken, that I took to be Nara Sumire, was tall, with long black hair in a tight bun and no bangs, wearing a sober rust-colored kimono. She sat in the middle of the room at a low table which was set with tea and sweets. She waved us forward with a long-fingered hand. Her smile was genuine, if a little foxlike.

"Shikaku, it's been so long! Why the sour face? You don't seem happy to see your dear old mother."

Shikaku, hands stuck deep in his pockets, slouched forward and dropped his behind on a cushion in the most straightforward performance of teenage glumness I'd ever been witness to. "Yeah, yeah, let's just get this over with," he drawled

Her smile turned fixed and her eyes narrowed to slits. "Manners, son of mine. Manners! Is that any way to greet your elders?" She innocently raised her fan.

His postured snapped up and he said, "No, ma'am. Sorry."

The fan lowered. The smile did not. "I'll let it pass, this time."

". . . How did the checkup go?"

She snapped the fan open and tapped her mouth lightly with it. "Fine . . . the crops are coming along . . . but," she smiled. "I'll fill you in later. This meeting concerns our young guest." Her deep black eyes fell on me and her smile broadened. I swallowed. "This must be Ukiyo-chan! Come here, sweetheart. Have a seat."

I crossed the space between me and the table and knelt down, hands bunching in my black skirt. Sumire poured tea for all of us and set a few sweets in front of me.

"Do you like mochi? Here, have some of this. It's strawberry daifuku. It's good luck! There's dango as well, and senbei if you'd rather have something savory. I figured you'd like something more on the sweet side, so I got a variety of . . ."

"Mother . . ." Shikaku groaned. "Can we just get to the point? And what do you need _me_ here for anyway?"

Her eyes flashed and the fan struck. He jerked his hand off the table with a hiss.

I quietly sampled the sweets while mother scolded son. She turned to me, a shine in her eyes, and leaned forward.

"How is it, Ukiyo-chan?"

"It's . . . good."

"Which one do you like best?"

I stared at the little tray in front of me.

"The Castella cake is really good," I said. It reminded me most of . . . where I'd been before. I didn't like the taste of the Japanese-style sweets so much. I took a sip of tea. It was bitter.

"I'm glad you like it. Now, Ukiyo-chan, if you're up for it, why don't we play a little game? Do you know how to play shogi?"

"Shogi?" I said, surprised. "I know the rules, but . . ."

"Then why don't we have a match?"

"Oy, old hag . . ." Shikaku intervened. "You don't really need . . ."

"Be quiet," her tone was quiet, but unflinchingly powerful. His mouth snapped shut. She turned back to me. "Shall we?"

It didn't sound like I could refuse.

* * *

The board was brought out, and the pieces set. I knew the basic rules – it was similar to chess – but I'd never had the opportunity to play.

I tried my best – I really did. As the game went on and Sumire hardened her strategy, switching from a relatively easy-going play style to one that was almost viciously offensive, I countered as best I could and succeeded in capturing several of her pieces. It was obvious I didn't stand a chance, but I did what I could to put up a fight. I focused everything I had into the little blocks on the grid in front of me. Sumire watched every move I made like a hawk, every twitch of my hand, every hesitation, every decision, like she was cataloguing and organizing and _judging_ something.

Eventually, when it was clear she'd be winning, I threw away defense and went in with an all-out assault. Her surprise was evident, but ephemeral. Within five moves she had me cornered again. Another five, and the game was over.

"Well, that was very good. Well-played, Ukiyo-chan," she said with a smile. "Don't you think so, Shikaku?"

Shikaku, who'd been watching from the side, gave me another one of those calculating looks. "Yes. For a beginner, I guess."

"Alright then," Sumire clapped her hands. "Now that my hunch has been confirmed, we can move along to the topic at hand."

"Hunch?" I frowned.

"Ukiyo-chan, you're a very bright young girl, aren't you?" She said.

I shrugged. "Not really."

"You are. I've seen your test scores, and your performance in shogi was far beyond what an average child your age should've been able to display. You are, just as Shikaku told me, an unusually bright child."

I quickly looked to Shikaku. He shrugged, and yawned. "It was obvious. Between your test scores, what your old man told me about you, and just your attitude . . . yeah, pretty obvious."

My mouth twisted at the mention of my dad. Sumire shot him a glare. "Shikaku!"

He caught his mistake and looked awkwardly off to the side.

"I swear, no tact whatsoever . . . Ukiyo-chan, we don't mean to put you on the spot. I only needed to make sure you were ready to hear what I wanted to tell you. Though it may have been lonely, I can assure you that you aren't the only precocious child I've seen – quite the contrary. So relax! Shikaku, get us some more tea."

I tried to let the stiffness ease out of my shoulders. I should've just pretended I sucked. But then again, they probably would've seen through me if I had.

After Shikaku had obeyed and placed two cups in front of us, most of the cheer faded from Sumire's face and she face with a grave air.

"First, I should explain how the Nara clan came to be in contact with your family. To make a long story short, your father and I were placed on the same genin team after graduating from the Academy. We worked together for about six years, until we made chuunin, and frequently teamed up all the way through our jounin years and until my retirement. He was . . . a dear friend of mine. He became especially close with my husband, and I with his wife, though our respective duties, especially after my husband's death, did prevent us from socializing much. As a jounin, he and his wife were frequently asked to assist with clan business – you may remember seeing Shikaku at your house?"

I nodded slowly.

"As his friend, I feel it is my responsibility to see that you are provided for, at least until you become independent. It is the least I can do." She smiled, and it was genuinely kind, though tinged with grief. "So don't worry about anything. You'll be well taken care of here."

It hit me then – that she was talking about me living here. Not about me going back to my house. I swallowed. She continued on.

"I've petitioned the Hokage for guardianship, and he was kind enough to approve. Until you become a genin, you will have the full support of the Nara clan – after that, it'll be up to you to decide what you want to do. Of course, we'll always be there for you."

This . . . wasn't what I had planned. I didn't even think it was what I _wanted_. But . . . could I really stand living in that house? Alone? Was it even possible?

I was seized by sheer _fright_ at the idea. I just . . . didn't _know_ anything. I suddenly realized what being an adult, a grown-up, in society actually was – the knowledge, skills, experiences, and set of tools to navigate everyday life by yourself – and I just didn't have any of that. I'd only lived here for five years – five short, carefree, bitter years spent clinging to people who took care of everything because I wasn't expected to know any of it yet. Thirty odd years of life experience spent in another universe did not magically correspond to thirty odd years of life experience in ninja land. It just didn't work that way.

So as much as it hurt my pride, as much as I wanted to go home, and as much as everything hurt and made my eyes sting, I bowed my head and said,

"Thank you very much for your kindness. Please take care of me."

Just until I made genin, I mentally added. I swallowed thickly. Just until then.

* * *

"Sakumo, I understand how you're feeling. I understand, but I'm afraid I can't grant your request."

"Hokage-sama!" Sakumo protested. "Please! Let me take responsibility." He bowed his head. "I beg you. I should be the one to look after her."

The Hokage sighed deeply and took a puff off his pipe. The sun was starting to go down, dyeing the walls of his office with splashes of red and gold. The rain had finally let up, and the dispersing clouds painted the sky like streaks of paint.

"I'm very sorry, Sakumo. I already granted guardianship to Nara Sumire. Fujimi Ukiyo's immediate future has already been settled."

Sakumo's face fell and he sat down heavily in his chair, hands dangling limply between his knees. The deep bags under his hollow eyes, the sallow tint to his skin, his slouched shoulders and disheveled hair, everything about him spoke of a man deep in despair. He buried his face in his hands.

"Sakumo, are you alright?" the Hokage asked kindly. "I know the past few weeks have been difficult . . ."

"Hokage-sama," he said abruptly. "How is the situation with Iwa looking?"

The leader turned grave. "Not good. At this rate, war is unavoidable. I am doing everything I can at the moment. Hopefully, we'll have a few more years to prepare."

"But you're only delaying the inevitable."

The Hokage nodded gravely. "That's right. You mustn't blame yourself, Sakumo."

"I could have put a stop to it. I could have . . ."

"No, Sakumo. The situation is too complicated to have been solved by a single mission. This storm has been brewing for decades."

"I could've," Sakumo insisted. "But now I . . . I'm afraid I won't be of any use to you. I can barely hold a kunai anymore." He laughed humorlessly. "So much for Konoha's White Fang."

"Is this why you're so insistent on taken in Ukiyo-kun?"

"I thought I could atone for my failure towards the village . . . towards Fujimi-san. But I suppose that was selfish of me."

The Hokage did not tell him the truth; that he would not have given him guardianship even if Nara Sumire hadn't stepped in. The man was too unstable as it was. Adding a young child, the daughter of the man whose death he blamed himself for into the mix, would do no good to either of them. Sakumo needed to focus on his own family first.

The Hokage stood, and faced the window. The sun glistened over the drenched village.

"Take care of your son, Sakumo. He needs you now. He's already talking about graduating."

"Kakashi?" Sakumo's head shot up. "Graduating? But it's barely been a few months!"

"His skills exceed anything we've seen so far. He's a true prodigy."

Sakumo smiled proudly. "He'll surpass me one day. He's going to be a truly superb shinobi."

"You have no objections to him graduating early then? According to his teachers, in a few months at most he'll be ready."

"If Kakashi decides he wants to graduate, I won't stop him. I do wish he'd have more time to play with his friends . . . but he's a stubborn boy. Once he's made his mind, there's no stopping him."

"I see. Very well then." The Hokage turned and bowed his head. "Please continue to guide him. I know he will accomplish great deeds for the village, as you have. I am sorry to hear about your retirement. Once you recover, it will be my honor to reinstitute you among our forces, should you wish to return."

Sakumo stood up and bowed in return. When he straightened up, it was with a ghost of his former kind smile that he said, "Thank you, Hokage-sama. Maybe one day I'll return to the force . . . or maybe teach? That might be nice. I feel like there's so much more I need to give back."

"Good luck with everything, Sakumo."

"Thank you, Hokage-sama. I'll be off now."

* * *

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	12. In Which There is a Family History

I hoisted up a box half as tall as I was, and staggered back a little under the weight. I nearly lost my balance and hovered on one foot for a second before catching myself. I tottered my way to the entry hall and dropped the box with the rest and heaved a heavy sigh. My fingers were red, with little grooves where the cardboard had dug in. I cracked my back.

I surveyed the pile, taking stock. It wasn't that big. Five or six boxes – mostly clothes, some knickknacks, training gear, books – I left my childhood toys behind, too embarrassed to bring them over to the Nara house, except for one stuffed animal buried among kimonos and leggings. I didn't need to take much, since my parent's house would stay as it was until I was old enough to decide what I wanted to do with it. Move back in, sell it, rent it? I didn't know, but I didn't have to decide right away. In the meanwhile, it would stay exactly as it was.

Shikaku would be here around noon to help me haul everything over. I looked at the clock. I had about three hours to spare. I'd been awake since four in the morning, unable to sleep thinking of the monumental task I had of sorting through all my belongings, cataloguing them, and deciding what to take. In the end, it hadn't taken as much time as I thought, mostly because I really didn't have all that much stuff and I couldn't bring myself to go through everything else – namely, my parents' belongings.

I stared at my family crest hanging in the entry hall, silently lording over the mound of boxes I was about to cart away. The curving wisteria branches were embroidered on the back of every single piece of clothing I owned. In a way, I was proud of that. As far as I knew, I was the only one of my clan left. Surely, if I had family somewhere it would have come up, somehow, during this whole process. Now that I thought about it, it was a little strange that we even _were_ a clan, if it was only the three of us.

And now, only me.

I didn't want to spend much time in the house. Every room seemed to conjure up fresh memories, bittersweet and more painful than I wanted to admit. Of both my mother, who'd perished on a mission, and my father, who'd been driven to the furthest end of despair. I remembered his haori, which had been returned to me after his body had been taken away. It now sat in a drawer. Gray, white, violet. Tombstones, hair, curving flowers branded on my back.

I hopped up on a carton, leaned my elbows on my knees, rested my face in my hands and stared blankly at the crest. The clock ticked away in the background. I thought about inerasable colors. Two hour and fifty-five minutes to go.

I remembered the study.

The door was within sight, right off to the side of the hall. I'd never been in. It was the one room in the house that held absolutely no memories for me. I'd never been allowed in, or rather it had never occurred to me to ask whether or not I was.

I wasn't _especially_ curious. I figured it had paperwork, or sensitive information I shouldn't be reading, or maybe some dangerous weapons it would be unwise to allow around a small child. There were innumerable reasons for it to be locked.

I stepped off the box and went over to the door. The doorknob was about eyelevel. I jiggled it. Locked, of course. I tilted my head to the side, and considered my options.

Well, I had time, if nothing else. And no one was going to stop me.

I went back to the mound of boxes and ferreted around until I found my toiletry box. I took out a handful of bobby pins and returned to the lock.

I got to work. I was out of practice, so it took me about half an hour of intense concentration, along with a tad bit of trial and error to jimmy the lock open. Finally, something clicked and the doorknob twisted. The door creaked open. The sliver I could see between the wall and the door was dark, and the smell of musty paper softly drifted past. I opened the door just wide enough to squeeze my small body through and groped for the light switch.

The heavy, old scent of dust and parchment, heady leather and wood polishing oil molded my first impression of the room. This was an important place; this was an old place; one that wasn't intruded upon very often.

My finger hit the switch and soft light flooded from a single lightbulb. I blinked away the colored splotches swimming in front of my eyes and closed the door as silently as possible. The air felt thick. Dust particles swam in the faint light, glowing golden. Every movement I made felt like I was tiptoeing through water. I unconsciously made my breath as shallow as possible, but it still seemed unreasonably loud.

The study was small, and it was covered, on all four walls from floor to ceiling, with shelves packed to the point of bursting with books, scrolls, loosely bound packets, and free floating paper sheets, some of which had fallen to the floor. There was a layer of dust over everything, except the low desk and cushion arranged directly across from the entrance. On the desk was a small oil lamp, and piles of documents.

As I lit the lamp and settled down on the cushion, I saw a series of framed photographs, set in a row, hidden from sight behind the piles. I dedicated a few moments to clearing the desk and setting everything in order, or at least arranging them into a neat pile because I had a feeling sorting all of this into a properly classified and codified filing system would take more time than I had to work with at the moment. Maybe later. It seemed like a decent project. For rainy days, maybe.

Once the desk was clear, I looked at the pictures.

For a moment, I was slightly confused.

The very first one on the left was obviously my mom and dad on their wedding day. They looked young, and happy, and it was too painful to look at so I set it face down and picked up the next one. It was the front gate of an old mansion, not in Konoha because the backdrop was a wide expanse of blue almost lost to the sky. It was enclaved behind heavy fortifications, beyond which several peaked roofs could just barely be seen. Several men in strange-looking armor were in the front, some with light-colored hair. It was black and white, with a sepia tone coming from age.

Finally, I noticed the emblem engraved into metal plates and hammered into the massive doors; curving wisteria branches.

I removed the picture from the frame and checked the back. In an unknown penmanship, was written _'Fujimi clan compound'_ – no date, no names.

I looked more closely at the people in it; somber-looking, stiffly-lined up. I set it down and moved to the next one. This was of a group of ten people standing in front of the Konoha gates, but these were a much more cheerful looking bunch; elderly people, four middle aged, and two children, one with black hair, one with white. On the back was written,

' _Konohagakure – year 10 – Sakiyo, Yoko, Kaimaru, Yosuke, Yohiko, Mawashiyo, Tokiyo, Sekai, Yomaru.'_

I tried to remember where I'd heard those last two names. It came to me with a painful jolt. Sekai was my mom. Yomaru was my dad.

I stared in wonder at the two children standing at the front. Sekai was grinning, hands on hips, in a short yukata with a big bow and two pigtails; Yomaru clutched a fold of a woman's kimono, looking off to the side. He wore a hakama and a haori that seemed a little big for him.

I had no idea who the rest of these people were – only that they likely were members of the Fujimi clan, but I couldn't even begin to say who was related to who and how. There was an equal mix of black and white hair (though it could just be age on some of them – and the picture was black and white). Whoever they were, they were probably gone by the time my parents got married.

The final three had been set face down, like I'd done with the first picture. I carefully lifted the first. It was my mom, exhausted but smiling proudly, in a hospital bed with a white-haired bundle in her arms. I guessed this was me, until I turned in around to check the inscription.

' _Konoha Hospital – Year 32 – Sekai & Kuriyo'_

My blood ran cold.

I checked the other two pictures. The following one was nearly identical, only the baby had black hair, my dad was in the frame, and the inscription read,

' _Konoha Hospital – Year 34 – Sekai & Yomaru & Tobiyo'_

And finally, the last one was of mom and me – white-haired and small and sleeping peacefully swaddled in a violet blanket.

That was the end of the pictures. I sat there for a moment. My eyes fell on the neatly piled documents. Something churned in my stomach – the freezing sensation like I was freefalling – and my body felt oddly light, cold branching out to numb my fingers even as I reached for the paper.

The documents on the desk only revealed part of the picture, but they also told me where to find what I was missing – family trees, birth and death records, letters, mission reports, medical files, contracts, scrolls packed with secret techniques, edicts – I ransacked the study until I found what I needed and sat on my hands and knees on the floor among a sea of paper and parchment. Nausea mounted in my throat, my arms and legs trembled as I turned pages and snapped scrolls open, but I continued as if possessed. Driven by morbid curiosity, the kind of sick fascination that keeps your eyes riveted on a car crash, my eyes flew over scrawled letters until I had finally absorbed the full history of the Fujimi clan.

* * *

The Fujimi clan had been founded some time during the Warring States Era by a man from a lesser branch of a noble clan called the Fujiwara. The Fujiwara were not ninja, but wealthy traders that had traveled across the land from the western desert all the way to the coast near the current Land of Water, and made their fortune in the salt trade. Eventually, one of them married into a local land owning family and the clan settled down on coastal territory, endowed with some noble title or other given by whichever lord was in control at the time.

The founder of the Fujimi clan was called Daiyo, and he had been born without the ability to feel pain. What was in truth a genetic glitch and had nothing to do with ninja or Kekkei Genkai, the family saw as a wondrous opportunity, especially given the chaos that was quickly spreading across the land. With various lords and micro-countries embroiled in wars and hiring shinobi clans to achieve victory, trade was suffering and coffers were running dry. The Fujiwara were no strangers to the shinobi clans, having been forced to hire them as expensive escorts for the caravans attempting the trek from the coast to the larger inland cities.

The head of the Fujiwara clan decided to have the boy trained as a shinobi, and with his wondrous ability to fight without feeling pain, make him into the clan's protector – thus saving them the cost of hiring a shinobi escort.

Daiyo proved to be quite talented, and he learned quickly. By the age of six he was accompanying the caravans on their trips, fighting off rogue ninja looking to supplement their main war activities with old-fashioned banditry. By all accounts, he was very proficient; his style of rushing in, screeching like a barbarian and ignoring all his wounds being rather startling for his attackers.

Eventually, as he grew up and grew stronger, he realized that this was a rather unfair deal for him. He took on all of the risk, all of the danger, for virtually no reward – and furthermore, he was a ninja now. He was far stronger than anyone else in the clan, so why shouldn't he be the one to take the lead? The shinobi business seemed a far more lucrative venture to him, with all the wars popping up – he'd seen them first hand, travelling alongside the caravan.

Daiyo gathered his allies and staged a takeover. The old guard was slaughtered; he took the daughter of the old clan head as his wife; renamed the clan 'Fujimi' – a wordplay on 'beautiful wisteria' and 'invulnerability' – while keeping the old clan crest, and set about converting the trading clan into a shinobi clan.

It took him some time – but funded by the trading business he'd kept going until he could start taking on missions, he eventually trained the clan's children into a functioning military unit and led them to war.

The Fujimi clan wasn't very successful at first; the training they received was somewhat poor, and they had no reputation to speak of – until Daiyo began to build his own. There were talks of the crazy white-haired man dashing through the battlefield as if possessed, never slowing down no matter how many wounds riddled his body. He began to be feared as a demon incarnate, tearing up the battlefield into a storm of blood and ash with crazed eyes and grinning lips.

His fearless ways had a double-edge. Daiyo died of his wounds at the age of thirty-three – leaving behind five children, two of which had inherited his condition.

What followed was the consolidation of the Fujimi as a full-fledged shinobi clan. As the clan grew in size, Daiyo's condition, kept a careful secret, occasionally popped up among his descendants. But as the Warring States Era grew in intensity, as fighting spread further and further, as rivalries for territory and old grudges lit the land ablaze, as stronger ninja clans staked their claim to renown and glory and the missions that brought in income, the Fujimi clan found itself falling behind. Its military might had remained small – the occasional 'invulnerable' clan member was no match for the Kekkei Genkai and special jutsu the others sported – the Uchiha Sharingan, the Hyuuga Byakugan, the Nara's Shadow Manipulation. They were losing influence, and money, and prestige. Several generations after the clan's founding, it was already dying.

The solution found and hurriedly implemented was to increase the number of 'invulnerable' clan members by having them marry each other. Over time, the rate of 'invulnerable' shinobi rose to roughly a quarter of the total clan.

The invulnerable fighters made up for lack of numbers with zeal and fearlessness. Like their ancestor Daiyo, they became known for their excessively reckless fighting style that ignored strategy and subtlety in favor of charging straight into enemy fire and killing as many as they could as quickly as they could. The Fujimi were virtually impossible to take down. Even when surrounded and bleeding out and with no hope of victory, they would keep on fighting. Nothing short of cutting their heads off would stop them. Torture, no matter the intensity, failed to evoke the slightest reaction from them, save for a gleeful smile.

Only the small size of the clan kept them from becoming more prominent. The problems this fighting style generated were two-fold, and resulted in the same end: a very high mortality rate, even by the standards of the era. First, continuous inbreeding, cousin to cousin and brother to sister, had resulted in a host of illnesses and a high infant mortality rate; second, even if they _were_ invulnerable to pain, the additional wounds accumulated in battle caught up to them sooner rather than later. Most died in their teens, with the average life expectancy of the clan in general hovering around twenty-five to thirty.

After the Uchiha and Senju clans rose to prominence and signed a treaty to establish Konohagakure, the Warring States Era drew to a close. Ninja clans were slowly joining up with Konoha or other newly founded hidden villages, and peace crept over the land. The Fujimi, however, doggedly refused to do anything but what they were currently doing: fighting in a near-suicidal fashion. This did not mesh well with a world that was moving away from the violence of the warring states and attempting to fit the shinobi into a, paradoxically, less overtly violent paradigm.

As their territory was inside the newly instated Land of Fire, the Fujimi clan was invited to integrate Konoha. It refused. Its finances were in bad shape, and they were unable to secure adequate missions. The era of pitched battles was over, the Fujimi were unable to adapt, and so they fell into ruin. An effort to go against the tide and establish an independent country on their ancestral territory, done by assassinating the local lord and invading the town, was met with a violent reprisal from Konoha – who were happy to fulfill their duty as guarantors of the peace in this brand new political system. The Fujimi, true to their roots and their unwavering beliefs, did not stop fighting until the very last ninja had been killed. They took no cease-fire, no armistice, and no quarter.

In the end, the clan was reduced to a mere dozen or so members, none of which displayed the 'invulnerable' trait – mostly clan elders, a few middle-aged people, and two children. Senju Hashirama graciously offered them entry into Konohagakure. Though they were small, they were officially acknowledged as a full-fledged clan. They decided to keep their crest and change the writing of their name, so it used the characters for 'beautiful wisteria' instead of those spelling 'undying body' that had been previously used.

But the history of the clan continued to haunt them long after they'd resettled in Konoha. The elders passed away, and so did the middle aged people in the First Shinobi World War; the two children grew up and married each other. In time, they decided to have children.

Tragedy ensued. Though the two were not directly related to each other, there had been enough inbreeding in their family tree that illness took their first-born – a boy named Kuriyo who died after eight days. This was repeated with the second son, Tobiyo, who perished mere hours after birth.

When their third child was born, it must have felt like a miracle. She was not stillborn, and she did not die – instead, she thrived. She was a normal, healthy, and bright young girl – though with a certain number of eccentricities.

She was not ill. And she had not inherited the trait passed down from Daiyo. If she had, it would have been readily apparent. Fujimi Ukiyo had escaped her clan's legacy and given her parents endless joy.

She was a blessing.

Sekai and Yomaru were so happy to have her. They loved her from the bottom of their hearts.

* * *

"Hey, Rin?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not sure I want to be a shinobi."

I sat in the grass with bundles of flowers in my lap. Rin was next to me, weaving a crown out of forget-me-nots. She lowered the handful she'd been intently focusing on and turned her brown, inquisitive eyes to me.

"Why not?" she asked.

I bit my lip and fiddled with a bright purple cosmos. It was a beautiful, bright summer day. We were out on a grassy hill near the school, puffy clouds floating overhead and in the distance, a sea of trees beyond the wall. The air smelled like drying earth and the breeze was cool.

"I don't know if I'm cut out for it. Fighting, and all that." I set the flower down. "I'm not good at it. At all. You've seen me during taijutsu class." That was an excuse. The truth was that I was scared.

"Fighting isn't all that ninja do," she replied and continued weaving her crown. We were supposed to be making flower arrangements, but Rin had decided to go her own way. Around us, the rest of the girls searched for flowers, worked, or chatted, but they were far enough away that the wind blocked all sound and made it feel like we were the only ones there. An isolated moment in time.

"Shinobi rescue people, and deliver important documents, and protect others. Some do more special stuff, like the Iryounin."

She used a word I didn't know. "Iryounin?"

"You write it like this –" she traced the characters on her thigh.

"A medical ninja?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. They can use special chakra to heal people. They're extremely important during missions, so they don't usually do any fighting. They're there to back up the other members of the team, and provide any healing they might need." She then gave me a short lecture on the types of jutsu and chakra-control methods Iryounin used. Her eyes shone and her hands moved animatedly.

"You know a lot about them," I said, impressed.

"That's what I'm aiming for," she said, and laughed. She held up the crown and put it on my head. "But that's not the only path for a ninja. It's just goes to show that fighting isn't all there is to it, even if I could name a few boys that think so."

"Tell me about it," I grumbled.

She gave me a considering look, and smiled, bringing her hands together. "That color is nice on you – light blue. You don't have to wear purple all the time, you know."

* * *

I did think about it. On my way back, kicking at pebbles and dragging my feet because I was reluctant to return to the Nara mansion. It was just so _empty_. Both mother and son were frequently out on business, and there was often no one but a maid and a cook – neither of which paid me any mind. It was a depressing place and I wished I could go home – never mind that the house itself would be as empty as the Nara mansion, the home I wanted was long gone. A home is more than just a building.

I didn't want to end up like my ancestors, fighting recklessly just because I could. If I was going to fight, I wanted to fight _smart_. But I wasn't making much progress in taijutsu class. I simply did not have the 'sense' for it – that ability to think fast on the fly, to change course in the blink of an eye, to adjust and correct, and spot enemy opening. We'd started sparing, and the gap between me and the top students was growing more apparent. The only way I could think of to improve my fighting power was simply to 'hit harder' – to charge forward, ignoring damage, and strike hard. I could train speed and power – but I didn't know if I could train enough to make up for the lack of innate talent.

I did not want to end up like my ancestors. I did not want to fight like that.

I didn't really want to fight at all, and maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe I was too soft, too first-world-educated-middle-class squeamish to wrap my mind around _fighting_ being an integral part of my life. Maybe that particular mental block would be impossible to overcome.

And so, wracked with self-doubt, I wandered my way home in the early dusk.

But I didn't have to fight – Rin was right, there were countless other paths for a ninja. Healing, communications, interrogation, spying, burglary, et cetera et cetera. Of course, being able to fight helped, but it didn't make or break someone. Right?

Break?

I remembered my ankle, and stopped dead in my tracks. It had been over a month already, but thinking back, when I'd been taken to the hospital after being found in the rain, they hadn't bandaged my ankle. It had healed overnight. A _broken bone_.

A strange rush filled me and pumped blood to my cheeks. I raced home, suddenly eager to try something. As I ran, my mind raced a mile an hour. I could heal. How had I not thought of this before? I could heal a broken bone in less than twenty-four hours. Without even thinking about it. That was drop-down-and-kiss-the-ground _amazing_.

I let myself into the mansion, chucked my shoes off, and ran to my room. I made sure the door was barred and threw my bag down. I sat on my knees and rummaged through it. I pulled out a practice kunai. The tip glistened in the half-light.

I took a deep breath.

Before I could really think any of this through and convince myself it was a bad, bad idea, I set the sharp tool carefully against my forearm – too shallow and it wouldn't work, too deep and it might be dangerous – pressed down with just enough force to put a crease on the soft skin – molded chakra in my chest, ready to direct at a moment's notice – and sharply pulled.

Thick, dark red blood welled up from a cut two inches long and about an eighth of an inch deep. I directed my chakra to my arm, focusing it on the cut.

After a few seconds the bleeding seemed to stop. I realized I needed something to wipe it off and awkwardly shuffled around the room, arm held out to avoid getting it on my clothes and praying it wouldn't drip weird spots on the tatami mats. I did not want to have to explain any of this, to anyone, ever.

I found my handkerchief and wiped my arm. It had barely been a minute since I cut it. My skin was pristine.

I let myself fall flat on my back. I heaved a deep sigh.

What had that incompetent office worker said to me, after telling me about his unfortunate mistake in the reincarnation office?

" _You'll learn soon about chakra, and the amazing things it can do. I promise you, your request will be granted."_

Implying, my healing was done with _chakra_. I'd just confirmed it. Without doing anything special to it, just by directing it to the site, my wound had vanished.

I could heal.

My heart beat a mile an hour. I felt light, warm, tingly. Possibilities raced through my mind, so fast I could barely focus on any one of them. And through it all, the exuberant thought rose to wrap around me:

I have healing chakra!

* * *

A few notes:

As you may have noticed, I changed my penname! I now go by **the-word-builder**. I felt like I needed a change. I came up with 'blackcatgirl' when I was around 10 or so, and it was starting to feel seriously outdated.

Also, I now have a Ko-fi page! For those unfamiliar, Ko-fi allows you to support content creators by making a small donation - the equivalent of a tip. Basically, if your heart so desires, you can follow the link on my profile and show your appreciation by buying me a coffee. Donations will in no way affect the frequency or content of my updates, they're just a thing that's there if you want a way aside from reviews to give me your support. I got one donation a while back, and damn, that just made my day. My week. Maybe my month? Possibly my year.

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	13. In Which Ukiyo Meets a Puppy

When I woke up the next morning, my mood was high as a kite. I felt so light and airy the wind might've carried me up sky-high, and I wouldn't have minded one bit. Waking up in the dreary Nara mansion, eating by myself, taking the long walk to school, nothing could sink me.

On my way, I saw a little dog by the entrance to a park I passed by every day. It sat there, fluffy fur a dirty brown, and though it was obviously a stray it didn't run when I came closer. I crouched to pet it. It nuzzled against my hand and licked my fingertips, staring up at me with bright black eyes. It's nose was like a shiny button. I giggled, and waved goodbye as I skipped away, backwards, though I nearly tripped over a rock.

That day, no one commented on my mood, but I caught Kurenai and Asuma exchanging thrilled smiles and when recess came along, they roped me, Gai, Rin, Obito, and a few other kids I didn't know but that I was quickly introduced to, into a game of ninja. We split into two groups and pretended to be ninja fighting against robbers. The game launched and quickly fell into full swing as kids ran around the playground with yells and shrieks and devilish laughter. Someone brought fake kunai and fake shuriken, and fake paperbombs and fake smokebombs, and when I was hit I gasped dramatically and fell on the group, crying help! A healer! I'm dying!

I was quickly carted off to the back by two of my comrades who quickly rejoined the fray. Rin was the healer. She very seriously examined me, put her hands over the wound with a look of intense concentration, wrapped a pretend bandage around my midsection, and said, 'All set!' Instead of returning, I asked if I could be a medic too. Her eyes shone. No one ever wanted to be a medic, she said, they always wanted to fight the robbers. Well, I told her, they're wrong; being a medic is the coolest thing in the world. Didn't she just save my life?

We helped the wounded as they fought back the robbers. I copied Rin's expert care, made everyone take a pretend food pill before going back out there, and scolded those who were too reckless and came by the medic station one time too many (* _cough_ *Obito* _cough_ *). Eventually, after a long battle lasting over ten minutes that saw the playground littered with little footsteps, wooden weapons, and shrouded with kicked up dust, the ninja won the battle. It was time to switch, when the bell tolled the end. A chorus of groans and 'but we didn't get to be ninja!' rose as we dragged our feet all the way back to the classroom.

It was time for taijutsu class, which did manage to dampen my mood a little. I was dreading it terribly. But today, the teacher said, was special. We'd be having a demonstration. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone that hadn't been there before. Kakashi sat alone in the corner, eyes towards the window. A sharp pang went through me. He hadn't been in class at all since . . . the incident. I wondered if he was doing okay. I really wanted him to be okay.

The teacher herded us towards the gym and we sat along the wall. And then the Hokage came out, only I didn't notice it was the Hokage at first, because he wasn't wearing the robes, but a very ninja-like black jumpsuit. I'd seen very few actual ninjas in my life (which was rather odd, come to think of it, given that I lived in a ninja village), but none of them came even close to looking as _ninja_ as this old man. Everyone hurried to their feet to bow, and I scrambled after them a few beats behind.

Kakashi stepped forward. The teacher told us to sit back down and watch.

Kakashi sparred against the Hokage. I was speechless as I watched. My mouth hung open the whole time.

I'd never seen anything like it, how they both moved like gravity was only a suggestion, how sparks flew off the real kunai they were using, the solid thump of a fist punching a guard, of feet smacking the ground and taking off just as quickly. Kakashi was outmatched, but only slightly. He was small and quick and clever, and he landed in a few good hits as he fluttered around his opponent, lightning fast.

And then he was knocked back, went flying, and hit the ground hard. The teacher called, 'Enough!' and both walked back to the center. Kakashi limped a little. They made the sign of reconciliation.

The Hokage turned to face us and talked, but I didn't hear a word of it. I was only looking at Kakashi. Instead of joining us, he limped away and disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

* * *

The next day, I saw the dog again on my way. I stopped to pet it again, and thought it looked a little thin. I took some rolled omelet out of my bento and put it on the ground in front of it. It sniffed for a little bit, then gobbled it up. It looked up at me with shiny eyes, bright red tongue lolling out over its teeth. It was cute. _So_ cute. Kind of like a fluffy little bear, and I thought it might be a juvenile Shiba Inu.

We had a staring contest for a little bit. I caved. I opened my lunchbox and fed the dog all my side dishes, bite by bite. I didn't know if dogs could eat rice, so I kept the riceballs for myself, which seemed to be enough food for me. I was already very full from breakfast. The Nara house could not be accused of feeding me poorly.

The dog sniffed and whined and licked my hand, but I giggled and rubbed its ear,

"Sorry, puppy, that's all I have today." I straightened out of my crouch. I thought about asking the cook for a bit extra in my lunch tomorrow.

I suddenly realized I had been spending waaaaay more time than I actually had.

I patted the dog's head and said, "Bye puppy!" and ran off.

Even running, I was late. There was no one at the school entrance. I ran up the stairs and down the corridor to my classroom, taking no time to compose myself before barging in, bowing low, and saying,

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Silence greeted me. I thought that was rather unusual, so I chanced a look up.

The classroom was completely empty. Oh, there were _bags_ , but not the people usually attached to them. Huh. We didn't have taijutsu class this morning, and I didn't _remember_ an assembly happening. How odd.

I heard a bit of a commotion in the building across the school yard and figured that was as good a clue as any. I made my way over there, and stopped, baffled. My entire class was . . . listening at some door? It was ajar, and Obito had climbed on Gai's shoulders to get a better view through the slight space between the edge of the door and the wall, because the bottom was occupied by Rin and a boy I'd met yesterday, and remembered as being named Genma. Other kids clustered around the door, ears glued to the wall, or straining to see through the small opening.

It was a little bizarre.

I quickly found Kurenai, who was standing a little bit away, and tapped her shoulder.

"Oh, Ukiyo, hello!"

"Hi, Kurenai. What's . . ." I gestured to the . . . thing. Obito leaned so far forward he lost his balance, and Gai had to jerk back to compensate which led to them crashing down right on top of some kids. The loud _bang_ made everyone freeze for a beat. Then footsteps came from inside the room, and we scrambled away. Our teacher appeared, shot us a look that could freeze magma, hissed "Quiet!" And shut the door completely.

"Aw, man!" Obito whined, rubbing the back of his head where he'd hit the ground. His goggles had been knocked askew. "What'd he have to do that for? It's not like we're in the way or anything."

"This is all your fault," a girl reproached him, hands on hips. "Gai, too!"

"Me? What did I do?" Gai said.

As the entire class began to lay into Obito and Gai, I turned back to Kurenai, who was face-palming, hard.

"Yeah . . . hum, what's going on?" I asked.

She dragged her hand down her face and said, "Kakashi's taking the graduation exam."

It took me a moment to process that. "No he isn't," I said. "We've only been in school for a few months."

"He's a genius," Asuma said, from where he was leaning against the wall. "You saw how he did against my old man."

"But . . ." This wasn't right. He was . . . what, five years old? How could he be a shinobi at five? That was ridiculous. How on earth was this a thing that was allowed? I stood there, blinking rapidly and staring into nothing. Kurenai waved her hand in front of my face. I didn't respond.

Rin came over and poked my cheek. "You broke Ukiyo," she said. And poked me again.

The girls took turns lightly pinching my cheeks and playing with my hair while I stood there and tried to process what was happening. I failed. I failed _hard_.

* * *

Eventually, we were all making such a nuisance of ourselves that another teacher came and told us class was dismissed until the afternoon, so would we all _please_ make ourselves scarce? If there was anything more compelling to a room full of children than an unexpected event that threw the class into chaos, it was the opportunity to be free of that class. Most people happily dispersed. The rest were shooed out of the building entirely. Kurenai went home, so did Asuma, and Gai decided to go for a run. In the end, I sat waiting on a bench just outside the entrance. Obito and Rin waited with me. I think we were all concerned about Kakashi.

Obito crossed his arms and grumbled, "If Kakashi passes, I can to!"

No, Obito, you can't, I thought to myself and kicked my feet. It wasn't an especially nice thought, but it was true all the same. None of us even compared to Kakashi, except for maybe Gai, who by virtue of unending persistence, had managed to draw him into duel after duel. He'd yet to win any of them. That didn't stop him from trying. He'd been starting to get hits in, too.

Rin laughed at Obito's comment.

"I just know he'll make it! Kakashi is incredible."

I couldn't shake the anxiety, but I made up my mind not to show it. I would be happy for him, because worrying like a dog over a bone wouldn't help him any. And besides, we hadn't spoken in a while. This would be the perfect opportunity to talk to him like a normal, well-adjusted person. A person who hadn't just saved his father at the expense of her own.

I winced. That thought cut deep.

Obito and Rin chattered (or more like, he chattered, she nodded and smiled indulgently), and after about half an hour, Kakashi emerged from the school building. Rin jumped up and ran to him.

"Kakashi! How did it go?"

After a moment, he held up a headband. It was shiny, a metal plaque engraved with the leaf symbol and fastened to a dark blue cloth. Rin clapped her hands and said,

"Congratulations! I knew you'd make it!"

"Tch," Obito clicked his tongue and dragged his feet over. He planted himself in front of Kakashi, pointed at him, and declared, "You wait and see! I'm going to beat you one day!"

Kakashi stared at him, eyes like those of a dead fish. Finally, he said, "Sure."

"You think you're so cool! I'll be a way better ninja than you when my Sharingan awakens!"

"Yes, yes," Kakashi sighed, and walked past him, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He was coming towards me. My mouth was dry. I opened it and said,

"Hey, Kakashi, congratula . . ."

He walked right past me.

He didn't meet my eyes. Didn't let me finish. Didn't respond.

Just walked by as if I wasn't there.

My teeth clicked as my mouth snapped shut. I felt like I had swallowed slime.

Rin's eyes went wide as saucers. Obito turned red with anger.

"What was that? Are you too good to talk to us now that you're a ninja?" he shouted after him. "Hey! Answer me!"

Kakashi kept walking away, as if he hadn't heard. Obito's hands tightened into fists and he stomped after him.

"So you really think you're better than us, huh?" He'd almost caught up to Kakashi, and extended his hand to grab his shoulder. "Even after Ukiyo saved your dad, you can't even give her the time of day? Who do you think you are?"

It was so sudden it was only a blur. Kakashi whirled around, grabbed the hand Obito had on his shoulder in a vice-like grip, and then Obito was on the ground with Kakashi's hand balled into the front of his shirt. Kakashi's eyes were no longer dead but burning with anger, his eyebrows drawn down in a frightening scowl.

" _Never_ mention my dad again," he growled. He pressed Obito harder into the ground.

"Kakashi!" Rin yelled. "Stop it!"

Obito smirked and grabbed Kakashi's wrist where his hand kept him pinned. "You wanna fight? Let's go!"

"Obito, no! Stop it, both of you!"

Rin wrung her hands but couldn't do anything to intervene. I didn't think I could either. I was worried for Obito, of course, because he'd get the snot beaten out of him if this went any further, but I was also deeply worried about Kakashi. I didn't want him to fight his friend. But I was paralyzed, the way I so often was during taijutsu class, when we sparred and everything seemed to move so fast I couldn't work out what to do with my arms and legs, and before I could process anything I was on the ground with fresh bruises and the fight was over. This was exactly like that. I saw Kakashi raise his fist. I saw it move down. And I should've done _something_ , but I didn't know what.

Kakashi's fist stopped an inch from Obito's face. All at once the anger was gone, erased or masked I didn't know which. He stood up and put his hands back in his pockets.

"Waste of time," he said, and walked away.

This time Obito let him go, mostly because Rin was there fussing over him and if her attention was on him Obito's would necessarily go on her. He was unhurt. She sighed in relief.

"Don't go picking a fight with him. You're friends," she said, helping him up. "You shouldn't fight each other out of anger."

"He's not my friend," Obito grumbled.

But he was mine.

"I'm going after him," I blurted out, and took off running.

* * *

I walked behind him for a while, a few feet away. He wasn't heading back home. He knew I was there, obviously, and after a while started to pick up the pace. He never actually broke out into a run, but boy did he have the mother of all passive-aggressive power walks. I had to jog a little to keep up. He made bizarre turns down alleyways and across streets, wandering further and further out from the center of town in the most convoluted route possible.

I supposed I was annoying him. He must have been trying to wear me out or lose me without actually running away. Which he could've done. Kakashi knew the Teleportation Jutsu, and even without he was far faster than I was. I didn't know why he wouldn't just ditch me.

But if I had one thing, it was endurance. I could walk, run, jog, forever. My feet never got sore, blisters were a non-entity, and at such low speed I had no chance of running short of breath. I might grow weak with hunger, but that was hours away. If Kakashi wanted me to stop, he could turn around and tell it to my face. Or be a coward and run away.

I had all day.

Or, no, not really, I did have class this afternoon. But whatever. This seemed more important right now. I could miss class.

Which I ended up doing.

Kakashi never stopped walking. We wandered around the outskirts of town, in parts I'd never been in and found rather pretty, passed by rice fields and wheat fields, and other sorts of fields I didn't know what they were because botanically inclined, I was not. Some were field of flowers, breathtaking yellows and reds and blues stretching out across the gently rolling plains. It was nice. A nice little jog. Keeping track of him wasn't difficult, because white hair was not exactly common, so I could let my mind wander. Think about how cute the dog being walked by an elderly lady was. How it smelled very nice out here, like freshly cut hay. About how the sun was going down and it wasn't so oppressively hot anymore, and the little breeze that picked up felt so very nice on the back of my neck.

I zoned out enough that I didn't notice when we'd gotten back around to town.

Kakashi stopped. I kept jogging, thinking about how the fading sunlight streaming through the very green leaves was lovely, and there were roses blooming by the side of the road.

I actually passed him, going a few feet until I automatically checked for that white head and didn't see it. I slowed down to a stop, rather disconcerted, and looked around, fully turning around a few times before I noticed him standing there, staring at me.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"That," I answered, closing the distance between us. "Is a question with a _very_ long answer."

"Aren't you tired?"

"No, not really."

A beat of silence.

He broke it with a deep sigh. "Why are you following me?"

"Well, Kakashi, maybe I was just out for a jog and you happened to be walking in front of me. Why were you walking in front of me, Kakashi? And without ever talking to me? That's a little rude."

He wasn't buying what I was selling, which was a shame because I thought I had a point.

"You're crazy," he said. "I'm going home. Stop following me."

"No."

"Sorry?"

"No. I will not stop following you."

"You're so _annoying_."

"Yes, I guess I must be." I shook my head. "Look, we could keep doing this until one of us falls over or wears their feet out, but I'm not stopping until you talk to me. I know where you live. Don't think I won't wait in front of your house. No, wait, scratch that, I'll wait _in_ your house. It would be creepy, but I don't have much to lose at this point."

" _Why_?" he said. It was as close to a whine as I'd ever heard from him. I suddenly noticed the bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Because you have a problem with me and I want to know what it is."

"I don't," he lied.

"Yes you do. You don't want to talk to me, and that's fair, but I want to know why."

He went silent. I resigned myself to waiting, when I heard a bark and something tapped my ankle. I looked down. It was the puppy!

I crouched down and pet it while waiting for Kakashi to make up his mind.

"You're so cute . . . are you a good girl? Yes you are, yes you are," I cooed, scratching underneath it's chin.

"It's a boy," Kakashi snapped. "Can't you even tell _that_ much?"

"Oh is he? Well, that makes you a good boy, yes it does, yes it does. Would you like a treat?" I searched my pockets. Surely I must have a cookie or a piece of jerky. Or I could give him the rest of my lunch, since it was nearing dinner time anyway.

"Urg," Kakashi made a disgusted noise and crouched next to me. "Here, give him this," he shoved a dog biscuit at me.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but how come you just have that on you?"

I fed the dog while Kakashi decided whether or not to answer. He was very appreciative. The dog, not Kakashi, who I didn't think had ever appreciated anything in his short life.

Or maybe that was going a bit far.

The dog rolled over and I got on my knees to rub his tummy with both hands. He was so amazingly fluffy.

"I got a dog," Kakashi finally grumbled, straightening up and turning his face away.

"Really? That's great!"

"Not as a pet," he clarified. "He's a ninken. A ninja dog. I'll be able to use him in battle, for tracking and stuff."

"Neat."

The dog had had enough and rolled himself upright, panting. I showed him my empty hands, which felt a little grimy from being in his unwashed fur.

"I'm sorry, no more. Come back tomorrow."

The dog sniffed my hands and whined.

I shook my head. "No more."

He turned around and trotted away, disappearing into the trees. I wiped my hands on my skirt and stood.

"I should go," I said. Jokes aside, I _did_ have to be back by dinnertime. The cook was pretty strict on that. If Kakashi really didn't want to talk to me, there was nothing I could do. It kind of hurt, which was still an unfamiliar sensation, and if that's all trying to talk with Kakashi would get me, then I would rather give up now. Even if I'd probably regret it. But I could do regretting. That's all I ever seemed to do.

"Your dad should have died."

I froze. I literally could not move. My breathing stopped, but Kakashi didn't.

"If he was going to die anyway, my dad shouldn't have bothered saving him. He should have let him die and finished the mission. Then everything would've been much better."

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. My fingertips felt cold.

"It was my dad's fault all of this happened. If he'd just followed the rules, everything would've been fine. The village would be safe and he wouldn't be a wreck. It would've been easier if your dad had died on a mission. He'd have had a hero's burial. His name would be on the Memorial Stone. You wouldn't have seen the body, and nobody would be angry at my dad.

"Everything would've been so much better if he'd let him die. He should've just followed the rules."

I was only vaguely aware of my body as I turned to face him. He seemed so far away. Like his face was at the end of a very long tunnel. I realized I was shaking as my hand rose.

Kakashi just stared at me blankly.

I raised my hand up.

Never, in my life, in _both_ lives, even as a bureaucrat managing hordes of incompetents and screaming my head off daily because nobody did anything right and everybody seemed determined to make life a living hell for me, _never_ , had I wanted to hit somebody more than I wanted to hit Kakashi right now. Never had I felt the completely irrational rage at another person that couldn't be dealt with without striking out. Not even when the people from the pound came and threatened to take my dog away. Not even when my mom pulled me from soccer practice after I'd won the regional tournament.

Not even when the doctor told me about the flesh-eating bacteria and said I was going to die.

Never.

Kakashi was surprised. He blinked a few times, eyebrows up. But he was even more surprised when I slowly, with a great deal of effort, hands clenched so tightly I could feel my fingernails making indents into my skin, put my it down.

"You're not going to hit me?" he asked, and he seemed a little amused.

Another pang went through me and I said through gritted teeth, "No. I'm not."

"Why not?" the amusement was still there, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You want to."

"I don't hit children."

The amusement disappeared.

It was replaced by anger, making the small band of his face above his mask flush red. His eyes flashed.

"I'm _right_. Following the rules would have given the best outcome. You should be smart enough to see that. Everything was my dad's fault."

"No. It wasn't."

"He should have let him die."

"No. He shouldn't have."

Kakashi grew more agitated. He waved his hands as he said with more vigor,

"You're supposed to be smart! Why aren't you blaming my dad for all this, when it was _obviously_ his fault?"

"I think that saving people is always the right choice."

"What is wrong with you?! Why are you so . . ." he cut himself off.

"Stupid?" I offered. He shot me an evil look, but didn't deny it.

I took a deep breath.

"Kakashi." I said slowly. "Listen to me very carefully. I want you to know this. One day, you're probably going to have to choose between abandoning somebody and failing a mission. Probably. I _hope_ you do. Because if you choose to let that person die, you _will_ regret it, and you'll understand why your dad didn't do it."

I went up to him, grabbed his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye.

"Abandoning someone is _never_ the right thing to do."

He blinked at me, eyes wide.

I stepped back.

He glared at me. I didn't care.

"You're crazy," he said.

I shrugged. "If you ever feel like apologizing, I'll hear you out. Until then, I'm not speaking to you."

"Apologize?!" he exclaimed. "I didn't do anything wrong!" He processed the second half of my statement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I want nothing to do with you until you realized what an awful thing you just said!"

My eyes finally welled up with tears that should've come long ago. Why was Kakashi the one person who could make me cry, even when he wasn't trying to? It wasn't fair. I didn't want to be so angry at him, or so hurt over what he said, but I was and I knew I couldn't bear to talk to him without remembering how awful it was and how he made me feel. The worst part was how even now, as I stood there trying to wipe the fat tears rolling down my cheeks, he didn't think he did anything wrong.

But _I_ hadn't done anything wrong, and I didn't want to cry because of him, so I choked back my tears and straightened my back. I glared at him until I felt brave enough to speak, and said,

"Until you apologize, we're not friends anymore."

He crossed his arms, withdrawing. Some part of me hoped he'd just do it right then and there and this could be over with, but that was wishful thinking.

"I didn't do anything wrong. I'm _right_."

My lip trembled.

I turned on my heels and ran. I heard him yell my name, but he didn't come after me and I didn't stop. I ran all the way back to the Nara house, to my room, fell onto the floor, and sobbed until I passed out from exhaustion.

* * *

A bit of news: I've graduated college! Well, the ceremony is in August, but I finished all my classes. I'm still trying to figure out what to do next, but hopefully it will involve taking more time to write, both fanfiction and original stuff.

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	14. In Which There is Growth

Kakashi graduated. There was no 'seeing him off' party, no ceremony, no fanfare. One day, he simply wasn't called from the roster. People babbled about how great he was; one or two grumbled a few not very nice things about his father, but never as loudly as the adults did. I stayed quiet as I listened to the names roll on by, and Rin shot me a worried look. She didn't ask what had happened after I went after him. On roll call was over, I was called to the front and reprimanded for skipping. I was made to help clean the classroom at the end of the day. I meekly took the punishment, feeling rather like I deserved it. I dodged the questions my friends shot my way, and that was the end of it.

A few days later, I was lying in my room on my day off, feeling miserable and sorry for myself. I regretted ever following Kakashi and forcing him to speak to me. If I had kept my nose out of his business, I wouldn't be feeling this way.

Outside, cicadas chirped. They were so _loud_.

It was hot and I didn't want to train, even though I knew I should. I was falling behind in taijutsu. Yesterday, my teacher had pulled me aside after class to discuss my performance. Since the debacle with Kakashi was still fresh on my mind, I had done especially poorly. I had a nasty bruise on my ribs from where I'd received a round-house kick from Gai. It wasn't his fault; I should have easily been able to block that, since he was kind and went easy on me when we were paired up. I'd been distracted and fumbling more than usual. The teacher told me, in kinder words, that though I was plenty flexible and stronger than average, my abysmal reflexes were starting to become a problem. He gave me a series of additional exercises to practice by myself. He emphasized that this wasn't necessarily unusual, and nothing to worry about so early on, but since I was the only one in the class with this particular issue and he saw fit to give me personalized advice, I was inclined to believe he was full of hot air.

I needed to try harder.

Or, better yet, I could go to the library and distract myself from my woes by looking up books on medical ninjutsu. Yeah, Ukiyo, let's do that. Run away from your problems, that'll help! Forget Kakashi, forget your taijutsu classes, those aren't important at all! Go look up how to resuscitate a dead fish! I'm sure your teacher would be thrilled to hear all about it instead of how you put effort into correcting your faults! What a smart cookie you are, Ukiyo!

I went to the library.

I proceeded to spend most of the day at the library.

I did not find out how to resuscitate a dead fish. That information was restricted to genin-level and higher. In fact, I found roughly no information of use whatsoever. All the texts that would have helped were restricted. All I managed to do was kill a few hours. It helped, somewhat. Better waste time doing something useless than lie on my back and ruminate over everything I did wrong, ever.

That list was longer than it should've been. I supposed living twice helped with that. I brought all my insecurities along for the ride when I passed through that office and down the drain to a new body. What a deal: twice the life, twice the regrets! They didn't mention that in the afterlife office, which I thought was about as bad a scam as those user agreements no one ever reads.

I walked back home, with a book about Fire Nation trade networks in my bag so I didn't have to feel like the trip was a complete waste of time.

All and all, I was pretty miserable. But my mood brightened considerably when I passed by the park, and heard familiar barks coming from among the trees. I hadn't seen the puppy since that day with Kakashi. He hadn't been waiting at the entrance of the park like before, so I assumed he'd left or been picked up.

I had time, so I walked into the park and followed the barks. I went further into the trees until I came across a shallow hollow made where dirt had worn away from the roots of a huge oak tree, just big enough for maybe two children my size. The puppy was lying there, tail wagging so hard his little butt wagged right along with it.

"Hello, puppy," I said, and climbed down into the hollow. I sat next to him among the dead leaves and pet his head. "Why didn't you come see me? I had treats for you."

He licked my hand.

"You're cute," I said. "I would name you, but then I'd be sad when you went away. The head of the house is allergic to dogs." The cook had told me, when I'd floated the idea of a pet by her. "Sorry I can't take you with me. Maybe there's a shelter? Or I can talk to the Inuzuka boy. He's in the class above mine. He's a little scary, but I'm sure he'd help. Yeah, why don't I do that? Would you like that? A nice home, good food, a family? You'd be very happy. You'd get hugs and praise and pats on the head, and everything would be great."

I paused.

"I guess I'm a bit like you? I don't have a family anymore. They all died. Eeeeevery one of them." I spread my arms out to show just how many. "Some because they had a stupid way of doing things, others because that was just what happens when you're a ninja, and others . . ." I trailed off. I ran my hand down the dog's back. He lay his muzzle on his front paws and looked up at me with shiny black eyes. "Well, others decided being alive was too much for them. I can understand that."

The shiny black eyes stared at me.

"Alright, no, I don't understand. Or I do, I get the reasoning, I get the thought process, but I can't take it. It's too awful. He was awful." I had a sudden epiphany. "He shouldn't have done that to me."

I'd unconsciously avoided thinking about how my dad died. I'd been afraid of reaching a conclusion. Now, for the first time, I realized that it wasn't my fault. Maybe I would've been there to save him if I hadn't been there for Sakumo, but that didn't make it my fault. It was my dad's. He'd made the choice.

It felt like a weight was lifted off my chest. It still hurt, but it was easier to deal with it.

I also figured Kakashi must feel the same. His dad was wrong for doing that to him, and it was understandable that he was angry about it. He wanted someone to blame, and he was angry at his father, but he didn't want to blame him for trying to kill himself because that's an awful thing to admit to thinking, so he blamed him for everything else instead.

I understood where Kakashi was coming from. Didn't mean I was any less angry and hurt over what he'd said, but it made it easier to be angry and hurt.

"So yeah," I said. "My god, our childhoods have been _terrible_."

I pet the dog for a few more minutes.

"What do you want to do, puppy? Want me to get food for you? Wanna play fetch?" I looked around for a suitable stick. Being in a forest, those weren't hard to come across. I found one just a bit to my right, easily within reach. I checked it for sharp edges, and waved it in front of the puppy's nose. He perked up and began to pant excitedly.

"Wanna fetch? Here, go fetch!"

I threw the stick. The dog didn't move.

"Or, maybe not." I looked at him critically. He looked right back.

I picked him up and held him over my lap. "You're cute, but you're not too smart."

The red tongue lolled convivially at me.

I frowned. Was his leg supposed to hang like that? And . . . was that blood?

I sat him down and turned him over. He had a deep cut on his leg, right down to the femur, on the leg opposite from where I was sitting, which was how I'd missed it at first. It was granulating and weeping greenish fluids. It was already a few days old.

Had something gotten him? A bigger dog, probably. The wound was too ragged for it to be a knife. I checked him for other injuries, and found some bite marks hidden in his fur, but nothing as serious as the wound on his leg. He must've crawled or limped back into the safety of the woods.

I would've expected him to bite me or growl, but he stayed still as I poked and prodded at him. When I was done, I patted him on the head.

"You're a good boy, aren't you? Such a good boy."

I needed to get him to a vet. The wound looked bad. It was probably infected by now. The Inuzuka family ran a clinic, I remembered. They'd take charge of him, and find him a good home.

But then a thought popped into my head.

Couldn't I just heal him?

I had healing chakra. It worked on my cuts, without requiring much effort on my part, so why wouldn't it work just the same here? Probably, all I had to do was pour my chakra into him, and _voila_ , one pristine healed leg. Or maybe half-healed? I wasn't sure how exactly it would work.

Maybe he would feel better.

Maybe he'd be able to walk.

It was worth a shot.

I put the puppy down on the ground on his side and knelt by him, beginning the familiar process of molding chakra. He looked up at me with trusting, but sleepy eyes. I put my hand over his leg, and channeled my chakra.

It wasn't quite the same as channeling it into a book, or a kunai. In a book, it pretty much stayed on the surface until I let it go. Now, the dog's body soaked up my chakra like a sponge, so quickly that I was hard pressed to mold more.

Results were immediate. I watched, fascinated, as tissue began to grow. Tendons tied back together, muscles fibers thickened, the fluid seeping out lost the cloudy look of infected discharge. Flesh that that been grayish turned a healthy pink. Skin began to grow along the edge, and fur even sprouted back, thick and shiny.

I was _delighted_.

The puppy turned to sniff curiously at his leg. I was getting a little tired, but it was going so well I made an effort and kept it up. The bone disappeared under new tissue.

The dog whimpered.

I took my eyes off the wound to look at his head. He'd laid it down and started panting heavily. His eyes had turned glassy.

Suddenly he howled and began to thrash weakly. I jumped, startled. His front paws kicked at the leaves, unable to find purchase and slipping uselessly back and forth.

I looked back at the wound, and froze. A knot of dread grew in my stomach.

It was still growing, but it wasn't _healing_. Inside the wound, lumps of flesh erupted, some hard, some soft, masses of tissue all grainy and bumpy and diseased looking, ballooning and spreading out all over. Small ones popped up along the lip of the wound, and the dog cried as they spread and burrowed under healthy skin. I felt something slimy under my fingers – warm, wet, with a little give like a sponge – and snatched my hands back.

The dog's breathing grew quicker, heavier, and the thrashing stopped. He trembled.

I'd seen something like this before; on TV, in books, at the hospital.

Tumors.

I couldn't do anything. I wasn't in control anymore. I sat there, frozen, as the dog continued to whimper and drool and shake, his body slowly overcome by the growths spreading out from his injured leg. They weren't stopping. They just . . . kept growing. His skin bulged as if something alive was slithering under it, foam bubbled up around his teeth and through his nostrils, little round pebbles bursting up on his gums. And then it reached his eyes.

My stomach churned. I threw myself to the side, hands on the dead leaves and retched. Nothing but bile and saliva came up. My throat spasmed and my stomach contracted around nothing. My eyes swam with tears. I choked and spat, and tried to hold myself together with the dog's dying whimpers in my ears and the horrible image of those growths stamped on the back of my eyelids. Big, pulsating masses of graying and brownish flesh visibly _growing_ , spreading, thick with blood with some oddly solid pieces mixed in, weeping fluid, eating into the dog's body.

I retched again. Tears dripped down my nose.

I forced myself to turn back. It was even worse now. Half the dog's side was just . . . gone. Through my blurry vision, I never saw how bad it was. But I could smell it . . . something rotten and sour, like meat gone bad, metallic like dried blood, organic and pungent and so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat.

The dog had gone quiet.

I managed to work up the courage to check for a pulse, holding my breath, trembling like a leaf. By a small blessing, the underside of the dog's neck was untouched. I felt nothing. Its eyes were cloudy. Its chest didn't rise.

I sat there for a moment, blankly looking at it out of the corner of my eye. It was still warm.

' _I have to get rid of it.'_

My mouth tasted like acid. I couldn't see a thing but splashes of color as I felt around in the dirt and began to dig.

I dug with my bare hands, sobbing and dry-heaving. I went as fast as I could. I didn't feel a thing as I scratched a hole into the ground. When it was deep enough, I sat back and rocked, fresh tears coming up, because I had to touch _it_. I couldn't rationalize it as a dog anymore. It was a thing, that was disgusting and malformed and diseased.

But I had to. The thought that someone might find it finally made me move. I knew someone would trace it back to me. They'd see what I did. They'd know that something awful lived _in_ _me_ , spread rotten tendrils through each of my veins and nerves, know I was rotten to the core. Rotten like the slick clumps of flesh attached to the animal I killed, rotten like my arm had been when I'd died.

I dragged the corpse into the hole and covered it in dirt. I shoveled it over as quickly as I could. When I was done I stood, and fell right back down. My legs wouldn't hold my weight. There was still a bump over the earth. It was obviously a grave. Someone would see it, and they'd get suspicious, and they'd dig it up and then they'd _know_ . . .

I gathered dead leaves and piled them on. I saw a large fallen branch and tried to get up to drag it over. It took me a few tries. I managed to get my hands around it and moved it over.

The grave was no longer visible. But I knew it was there. I would never be able to forget. The smell of those things, heavy and metallic, that slickness under my fingers, pulsing and crawling and growing . . .

It was getting dark. I had to go back.

My hands were covered in dirt. So were my clothes. I stopped by the park fountain to wash my hands, and only then did I notice that my fingernails were cracked and bleeding. My hands were covered in cuts. I watched, almost catatonic, as the bleeding stopped and the wounds knit themselves back together. I watched for fifteen minutes, and every injury single was gone. My nails were back to normal.

But I couldn't help expecting _something else_ to grow. Something unclean, something diseased and cancerous and vile, living under my skin ready to burst forth and crawl into every nook and cranny of my body. A wave of nausea churned in my gut. I closed my eyes, I leaned against the fountain and tried to keep my breathing under control. Belatedly, I realized I was close to a panic attack. I dunked my head underwater.

I held it there until I began to feel dizzy.

When I came up I was cold and breathing easier. I took deep, even breaths.

But I couldn't shake the sight of the dog, whimpering and shaking under my hands.

 _Why_ had that happened? It was my chakra, obviously, but _how_? I was healthy. It healed my cuts and knitted my bones. Why would it do that to that poor dog? The only explanation I could think of was that it just . . . did that to things that weren't me. Which wasn't so much an explanation as it was a stone-cold observation, and so it got me absolutely nowhere. To begin with, I had no idea how the healing factor even worked. It sure wasn't _normal_ , whatever meaning was assigned to that word in this crazy, messed up world.

If it did that to a dog, what would it do to people? To other animals? To bugs, to plants?

With a start, I checked myself. No, my _chakra_ hadn't done anything.

 _I_ had done that.

I had killed the dog.

It was my fault.

All of a sudden I was sure of nothing else. All of it was my fault. My mom's death, Sakumo trying to kill himself, the look on Kakashi's face as he watched his father bleed out on the tatami mats; the smell in the living room where my dad slit his stomach and dyed his gray jacket rusty red; the ruined flesh on the dog's thigh. I just . . . ruined everything. I didn't know how, but that didn't make it any less true.

I had ruined everything when I was alive, and I was ruining everything again. Whatever I did, I always ended up regretting it.

I sat down on the ground by the fountain and wallowed in self-pity. I thought about how I was going to face my friends. About how they'd look at me. Because they would know, somehow, what I had done. It wasn't rational, I knew that, or at least I should have, but I couldn't help but feel sick all over again when I thought about it. Gai would flinch away, Kurenai would look disgusted, Obito would make a face and loudly exclaim how disgusting I was, and Rin would . . .

I stopped.

I looked up at the sky. It was almost completely dark.

I couldn't become a medical ninja.

There was just no way. It wasn't possible. Not with chakra like this.

My thoughts automatically conjured up the image of a human being with the same kind of growths as the dog. I couldn't help it. I pictured Sakumo, lying on the tatami and covered with blood, only through the tear in his shirt it wasn't entrails I could see, but something worse. I pictured my dad, turning around in the living room with that awful stench, bulbous masses erupting on his face.

I decided two things that day: one, I would never, ever let anyone know, about my condition, or about my chakra; and two, I would never, _ever_ , use my chakra on another living being.

* * *

Time went on, as it tends to do whether I wanted it or not. I saw Kakashi sometimes outside the building where the Hokage handed out missions, sometimes by himself, sometimes arguing with teammates. I never spoke to him, but I heard rumors; he was known to be exceptionally difficult to work with, following the rules to a T and often making things harder for everyone else. He was called stubborn, callous, arrogant, irritating, abrasive, and other worse things. Knowing him, I had no doubt he never once stopped and realized his behavior was inappropriate.

He never apologized to me. So I never tried speaking to him. He made chuunin at the age of six. I couldn't believe it when I heard. He was still just a kid.

Gai graduated early, after two years in the program, at the age of seven – which was also awfully early, but he was so happy about it, after months of being ridiculed and told he'd never make it, so I congratulated him and otherwise kept my mouth shut. We threw him a party at Kurenai's house. I personally organized it after it had become clear that a bunch of seven year olds did not know the first things about proper event planning. I didn't think anyone in our little group really appreciated how well-coordinated a party it was and how smoothly it all went off, but _I_ did and I got to feel proud of myself for a bit.

Which was a change, because I didn't have much else to be proud about.

After the incident with the dog, I started having trouble with chakra control, an area I'd used to be pretty good at. Every time I tried to channel it somewhere, something inside my chest would freeze and I lost control. It took me several weeks to even be able to make stuff stick to my hand again. I improved over time, but never fully recovered the wonder I'd felt the first time I used chakra. Where I'd once showed promise, I could no longer count myself among the top of the class. Except in written subjects – _that_ I could still do just fine, did even better since most of my time was spent hitting the books, but it started to count for less and less of our overall grades as we advanced through the curriculum, and my standing fell to somewhere around the middle.

My taijutsu was not even worth talking about.

By the time I was nine years old and set to take the graduation exam, I was somewhere around mid-range in most areas. Average, with maybe some potential, seemed to be the final estimate.

I passed the exam. We all did. Kurenai, Asuma, Obito (finally, after taking it god knew how many times), Rin and a handful of other kids – some I knew, some I didn't. The exam wasn't especially hard – a written portion, and demonstrating a simple jutsu. I wasn't the best, but I didn't have to be. I just had to be good enough.

Over the next few days, everyone chatted about which teams we'd be on and which sensei we'd be getting. We wore our brand-new headbands around town, playing ninja for the last time with a real sense of importance, like yes, we're the real deal now, how great are we? And I could feel the elation too. I'd made it. I'd _finally_ made it. It was a long road, stretching far behind me and even further ahead, but I was moving forward even though it was hard. The shiny Konoha headband, tied properly around my forehead, was the proof of that.

I didn't know right then, running around the park with my friends and basking in the early summer sun, that the road was about to get even harder.

* * *

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	15. In Which Ukiyo Tries Very Hard

"You're never going to be a proper Shinobi. My advice is that you give up now before you get yourself killed on the battlefield. I'm sorry, Fujimi-san. But your problem with Taijutsu, your poor reflexes and lack of battle sense . . . those aren't problems that can be fixed with hard work and perseverance, and your chakra control simply isn't good enough to make up for them.

"If your mind is set on being a Shinobi, I recommend you join the Genin Corps. You'll never see real combat, and you'll work D-rank missions until you retire. You'll most likely never be a Chuunin or a Jounin, but it's proper work.

"Think about it, Fujimi-san," the instructor said, not unkindly, before taking his leave from the grounds where my team had just had our first, and final, training session.

I'd gotten off to a good start with my team. They were two boys, a Hyuuga and a civilian, who I'd played with every so often during school – we didn't know each other very well, but they seemed like decent people. We'd gotten lunch, chatted a little bit about what kind of ninja we wanted to be; then met up with our new sensei, a tall black-haired man with strict eyes hidden behind shades. We'd been instructed to assemble at the ninth training ground. We'd been all excited about our very first training session – wondering, as we so often had during our time at the Academy, what our lives as new ninja would bring.

And then everything had gone to hell.

The instructor put us through a series of tests – chakra control, flexibility, strength, stealth, aptitude with ninja tools, basic genjutsu – one after the other. After those he had us spar against him, one at a time.

I'd figured something like this might happen – a general assessment – but I hadn't expected it to be the kind of test you could fail.

Neither of my teammates passed, either. Since we were given the results privately (out of a smidgen of concern for potential public embarrassment, I supposed – not that it made me feel any better) I didn't know what the problem was with them. I just knew what mine were. They were the same problems that had nipped at my heels my entire life, like a devil with the face of every disappointed professor I'd ever had.

I left the training grounds, feeling more dumbstruck than anything else. I walked into the center of town. It was a market day, and filled with a bustling crowd. My ears rang. I turned around and walked away.

It was hot so I bought a popsicle from a street vendor. I gnawed at it distractedly as I walked towards the nearest park. It was empty this time of day. I sat down. Flavored ice crunched under my teeth and dissolved in a burst of sweetness, leaving the inside of my mouth numb. The sun was overly bright.

Well. What to do now?

* * *

" _You didn't pass_?!"

Kurenai's palms hit the table, looming over me with shock making her red eyes wide and round. The ice cubes rattled in my drink. This was the first thing she said to me upon arriving at our rendezvous location. Not even a hello.

I crossed my arms and folded in on myself. "A little louder, please. There's a deaf grandpa in Kirigakure who didn't _quite_ hear you," I replied sullenly. I poked at the condensation on the glass flute holding my parfait. The whipped cream was starting to deflate.

Kurenai sat down across from me with a heavy _thump_. "I can't believe it," she said, sounding a little breathless. "What are you going to do?"

"He said I could join the Genin Corps."

Her mouth twisted. "That's . . . an option."

"Not a good one, you think?"

"Well, no." She looked uneasy. "To take the chuunin exams, you need a team, and a jounin to sponsor you. The people in the Genin Corps by definition have neither. If you join . . ."

"I'll be a genin for life."

"Or until you retire. Oh Ukiyo, I'm so sorry."

I was going to be a genin for life. Some part of me didn't find that so bad – no hard battles to fight, at least. But another, bigger part, was verging on absolutely _devastated_.

I had a _plan_. I was going to become a chuunin, get a job in the village administration, and then I'd see about improving this little slice of reality I'd found myself in. I was a little beat down, sure, after everything that had happened five years ago – a little discouraged, a little crushed, a little sidetracked, a little heartbroken, but I'd never given up. I'd never stopped trying to move forward.

I felt sick. I'd never expected this. I could not stay as a genin. That was not an option. God help me, I wasn't going to take this lying down. I had not come all this way to be stopped because something as arbitrary and unjust as the _system_ refused to give me a chance. I had to find a way around this silly rule that the Genin Corps equaled a career death sentence – which wasn't even a rule so much as a taken for granted _assumption_ , and the world doesn't, or shouldn't run on assumptions.

"I need a teacher," I blurted out.

"What?" Kurenai said.

"A teacher. A sensei. Someone to train me."

"Ukiyo, no one will take you. Sensei train teams, and I hate to say this but no jounin is going to take on someone who failed the first test. No jounin has the time."

I waggled my finger at her. "That's a good point. I need to convince a jounin that I'm worth their time. So, I know _what_ I have to do. The question is _how_."

Kurenai was at loss. "Um, you could . . ."

"Ukiyo-chan!" A boisterous, yet all too serious voice boomed through the café. The waitress shot Gai an irritated look as he bounded through the floor backed by the spectacle made by the shocked stares and opened mouths of the other customers, and stopped in front of our table with a pose that looked an awful lot like a dab. "I came as soon as I heard! Never mind my interrupted training! My friend is in trouble, and nothing could possibly keep me away!"

"Hi Gai," I said. "Nice of you to join us. Please take a seat. So Kurenai, who _else_ did you tell about this?" My tone was a little sharp.

Kurenai face-palmed. "I'm so _sorry_. I only told Asuma, I swear."

"I heard from Obito!" Gai said, taking a seat next to Kurenai. I slid my parfait over to him. He dug in enthusiastically.

"Asuma must've blabbed. And God knows, Obito can never keep his mouth shut . . ." Kurenai said to herself, clearly mortified.

"I'm glad he informed me of your predicament. Do not worry, Ukiyo-chan! We'll fix this, together!" He said, waving the spoon and dripping half-melted ice cream on the table.

I folded my hands together and said, "That's very sweet of you, Gai. We were just discussing how to convince a jounin to take me on as a student."

Gai's eyes shone and Kurenai cringed. She clasped her hands over her ears just as Gai jumped up and exclaimed, the spoon flying off and hitting the poor waitress smack on the nose.

"With the POWER OF YOUTH anything is possible! You only have to show everyone how hard you're willing to work. Once they see your youthful spirit, any jounin will understand how lucky they would be to have you as a student!"

I could see where this was going as my error in judgment dawned on me. Kurenai shot me a pitying look. Gai continued on.

"How about this? When I was wait-listed at the Academy, I made a personal vow to myself – a self-rule. I told myself if I could complete 1000 laps of the school yard, I would make it into the Academy. And guess what? It worked!" He shot up again, and Kurenai snatched my glass out of the way. Gai pointed straight at me. "You need to make a self-rule! Then you'll surely win over a sensei! I recommend doing a hundred laps around the village! On your hands!"

"I don't think I can . . ."

"Nonsense! You can do anything you put your mind to. Come on, let us go!"

From one moment to the next, I was being ushered out of the café with Gai's arm around my shoulder. I glanced back to see Kurenai hastily slap a few coins on the table, half of them rolling off due to her haste, before running after us, and the waitress glaring at the three of us. Probably best to avoid this place for a while. Pity. I'd heard the parfaits were divine.

Gai marched me down the street.

"Don't worry, I'll do the laps with you."

One hundred laps. On my hands. Um . . . how about no?

"Gai, thank you, really, but I don't think this is going to help me."

Gai's face turned serious for a moment. "Even if it won't, there's nothing to lose by trying. It'll be the first step towards becoming stronger. Remember the self-rule, Ukiyo-chan!"

I seriously considered it. It was ridiculous, impractical, and didn't have much to do with what I needed to accomplish – it could even be considered a waste of time – so why did I feel the sudden urge to do it anyway?

I was about to say 'let's do it' when Kurenai cut in front of us and said, slightly out of breath,

"The Nara clan. You're still staying with them, right?"

My eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

She grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "You don't have to do this. Please. There are better ways." She took a deep breath. " _Please_ don't run a hundred laps around the village on your hands. Don't do that to yourself. It's not worth it."

I came to my senses. "Yes, you're right. I'm going to go home and see if I can talk to my guardian."

She nodded emphatically. "Yes. You do that. Right now, off you go!"

She shooed me away before Gai had a chance to get a word in. I took off running before he could call after me with some more peppy slogans about youth and spirit and other things I might've heard at a high school pep rally. Far behind me, I vaguely heard Kurenai chewing him out.

* * *

Luckily Nara Sumire, the head of the Nara clan who'd taken me in, was home today. Lucky, lucky me.

I knocked on the door to her study and was called in. Sumire watched me with unreadable eyes as I explained my predicament, and made my plea. Surely somebody from the Nara clan could help.

Sumire looked off into the distance, fanning herself. The fan had a very pretty hydrangea pattern – soft blues and greens, very summery.

It snapped shut. "Impossible."

My face fell.

Sumire shook her head. "I'm very sorry, but no one can help you right now. At any other time, I wouldn't hesitate. Frankly, I'm absolutely baffled you failed your sensei's test. Was it more of that nonsense about your reflexes and battle sense?"

I nodded.

She snapped her fan open and sighed harshly. "I swear, some people have no sense of priorities. It's like they think fighting battles is all shinobi ever do! Well, be that as it may, all our jounin are occupied."

That seemed unusual to me. "Is something going on?"

She hummed a little as she considered me. ". . . I suppose you're a genin now. You'll know sooner or later. Are you aware of the state of our relations with the other hidden villages?"

"I know they aren't good."

"Yes, to put it mildly. In short, there might be war."

"What!?" I gasped, slapping my hands over my mouth.

"Might, Ukiyo-chan, let's not be hasty now. There have only been small skirmishes so far. It's very possible it will end with that." She hesitated. The fan went down on the table, strewn with paperwork, along with her gaze. "The Genin Corps might be a better place for you. The Corps don't usually see outright battle – they mainly serve as support. In the event that a war should break out, that would be the safest place to be."

"But . . ." I piped up to try and argue with that. There were so many things wrong with that statement I didn't even know where to begin.

"In any case, everyone is busy. I'm very sorry, Ukiyo-chan . . . my advice would be to wait. In a few years, once the situation has settled, I'd be more than happy to provide you with a sensei. But for now, I'm afraid you're going to have to be patient."

* * *

I didn't _want_ to be patient.

I kicked at a pebble on the road. I wanted a sensei. I wanted to be a Chuunin. I wanted a position in the village administration. I was so frustrated I could scream. Doing Gai's laps around the village didn't sound so bad now, because at least I'd be doing something other than sitting on my hands waiting for the next few years.

I couldn't help but feel none of this was fair.

* * *

I joined the Genin Corps.

It was almost exactly like working at a temp agency, except the jobs we got were more along the lines of what middle schoolers do for pocket money. Which, given the average age of the ninja in the Corps, was actually rather appropriate, come to think of it.

A typical day went like this: I would stop by the mission board in the morning and sign up for whatever looked good to me; once a mission had three genin signed up, we'd head to the counter to be briefed and meet up with our Chuunin supervisor; we'd head out, complete the mission, and return; rinse and repeat, however many missions you could fit in a day because the pay _sucked_.

If I got lucky, I could get to the office before all the good missions were gone: anything relatively quick, like delivering a package or fetching stuff, was highly coveted, while the more time-consuming and laborious ones were universally reviled – picking up trash, helping out at a farm, or babysitting were some examples. Unfortunately, the latter were far more common, hence the importance of being the early bird.

Customers could request specific genin, and the various departments of the village administration often did. Older, experienced genin were allowed to take missions on their own, without a supervisor. Those guys had the benefit of knowing the right people and all the tricks to get the good jobs, while the newbies were left to flounder. On my first week, I made the mistake of getting there late and having to sign on for the only mission that looked half-way decent: finding a lost cat. I thought it'd be easy. It's a cat. What could go wrong?

My team ended up spending the whole day searching for Tora, but only ended up being used as scratching posts. And in the end, the stupid cat found its way home by itself, the mission request was withdrawn, and we didn't see a cent.

Since it was mostly a matter of luck who I ended up working with, I didn't have the opportunity to get to know very many of them all that well. Even so, I did make a few friends – Tetsu, a Hyuuga boy and one of my original teammates, who had a serious chip on his shoulder about being failed; Raku, a twelve year girl of civilian origin who'd failed her first chuunin exam while her teammates passed and had been unable to find a replacement team; Shin and Kai, twin boys I remembered seeing at the Academy in the year above mine, who'd graduated early but promptly washed out after their sensei's first training session; and Misaki, a twenty year old woman with a nervous disposition and a tendency to flip out when she heard explosions.

The Corps was a veritable mixing-pot of every kind of young ninja imaginable. Some had skill. Others clearly showed why they were in the Corps to begin with. Most were okay to work with, others I learned to avoid like the plague because they didn't take the missions seriously or were just generally unpleasant. So, it was like any other job, really.

I took on as many missions as I could, and attacked each one with a fervor I'd previously only accorded to a pile of paperwork as tall as my desk that would get a person I profoundly disliked into various kinds of trouble, up to and including the legal kind. Whatever the task I was saddled with, be it babysitting or rounding up chickens on the run, deliveries, clean-up, dog-walking, construction, grocery shopping, digging ditches, I did anything and everything under the sun.

"You don't have to try so hard," Shin said to me once, while I was cleaning up a river with him and his brother. His pale blue eyes looked at me with an amused twinkle in them while he took a break. All three of us were soaked to the bone and red from the sun while our supervisor read a book in the shade.

"It's only a delivery. We have until noon. Why make a race out of it?" Misaki asked, perplexed when I wanted to make this a delivery run, emphasis on the _run_. She scratched her head, but indulged me.

"You're making a fool of yourself," Tetsu grumbled as I hoisted five baskets of potatoes, one on my head, two on each arm, to take back to the farmhouse. He poked the dirt with his hoe, and glared at the vegetables with those odd white eyes. He had a fresh bandage around his forehead.

"You're still thinking of becoming a chuunin, aren't you?" Raku said wistfully, looking out to where the children were playing ninja in the park. A wooden kunai sailed through the air and landed close to us. She sighed and rested her cheek on her hand. "Lucky. I don't think I have the energy anymore."

Finally, it was Kai who asked me, "Hey, you're aiming for the chuunin exams, right?"

I said, yes, yes I was.

His brother continued, "Then you can't just be doing missions all the time – you'll get nowhere, fast. See, the missions aren't all that important. You gotta make time to train."

"But . . ." I scratched my head. "Train how? I don't have a sensei. I don't even know where to start."

They flashed twin grins and handed me a scroll.

Kai winked. "A little something we stole from the library. Keep this a secret, 'kay?"

"We've been looking for a teammate to take the exams. You're going to get a jounin to sponsor you eventually, right? From the Nara clan," Shin said.

I stared at them. I didn't point out that Sumire's offer wouldn't help until several years in the future. "You seem to have a plan."

Kai shrugged with a little grin showing teeth that were slightly sharper than average. "You're not the only one that's got their eye set higher. Just because we were failed doesn't mean we're worthless."

"But it does mean we've got to show what we're made of," Shin added. "So let's do it."

* * *

The scroll held various chakra-control techniques – far more advanced than anything we'd seen at the Academy. Walking up trees, walking on water, emitting chakra from any pressure point in one's body, a little genjutsu too. As I skimmed through the material, alone in my bedroom by the faint light from an oil lantern, I noticed a particular diagram: five hexagrams arranged in a circle, connected by two sets of arrows going in opposite directions. The title of the chapter was 'Nature Transformation.'

Fascinated, I studied the diagrams and drawings showing how to perform basic Katon, Fuuton, Suiton, Doton, and Raiton – Fire, wind, water, earth, and lightning release. The instructions on molding special chakra were vague, but the techniques themselves didn't seem too difficult. They were variations on the basic skills – molding and focusing chakra, exuding it and moving it throughout the body. The only hard part was actually _making_ the chakra.

I wondered if Shin and Kai would be willing to steal some more materials from the library.

I asked, and they agreed, on the one condition that I share what I figured out with them. As Kai said, rather sheepishly, "We're not so good with the theoretical stuff." As it turned out, they hadn't mastered even the basic techniques before giving me the scroll, let alone the more advanced ones – they'd probably been hoping I could figure it out for them. Since I'd been known for being smart at the Academy, that wasn't exactly a bad plan, and one I was happy to get on board with if they took care of gathering the materials for me.

At the end of each day, after my missions were over (often around nightfall), I started dragging myself to an empty park to practice. Practice, practice, practice. I didn't know much about what I was supposed to be doing, so there was a lot of fumbling and wasted time involved. I tried the nature transformation thing immediately, but after several hours the sun had gone down entirely, I was drenched in sweat, and my legs felt like they were filled with jelly. I banged my head against a tree trunk a few times. Wasted chakra, wasted time. Back to the basics I went.

I spent every hour of every day either on missions, reading the scrolls and books Shin and Kai 'borrowed' for me from the Chuunin and up sections of the library, or trying to put what I learned into practice. I figured out the tree-walking thing in two days, and water-walking took me a week. It wouldn't have taken me so long if I wasn't still a little wary of using my chakra. The troubles I'd developed at the Academy following the dog incident had subsided over the years, but I still had a weird kind of mental 'lag' when I used chakra – kind of like a little mental hurdle I had to clear before I did anything. But I was determined enough to work through it.

I just had to be careful not to transfer chakra into any living thing. Thankfully, that was more difficult than it looked, which I learned by reading up on the exact mechanism behind genjutsu. Genjutsu was done by messing with someone's chakra flow, especially in the brain, to cause hallucinations and whatnot. This actually took a good amount of skill and fine chakra-control. Invading a person's body with my own chakra was not something I was likely to do without meaning it. That, at least, was a relief.

One day, mid-afternoon after our delivery mission had ended earlier than scheduled, I sat on my knees in a clearing (the park and training grounds all being occupied) and tried to teach the twins how to walk up trees.

I was only partially successful.

"No, Kai-kun, you're using too much chakra. Think of the poor tree!"

Kai groaned, lying on his back with dirt everywhere. The tree's bark sported several brand new craters. He glared at me upside down.

"I don't care about the tree! I'm trying as hard as I can!"

From up in the branches of a neighboring tree, his brother called, "Maybe you're trying too hard. Ukiyo-chan's telling you to reign it in."

"Ukiyo's not the boss here!"

"She still knows better than you."

Kai let out a disgusted sound and got up to try again. I went and did some other exercises while they worked on that.

Kai got it, eventually, though his finesse was lacking – jutsu using fine chakra control was not in his future. Shin was quicker on the uptake, once things were explained to him in less complicated terms than the scrolls tended to use. They both were miles ahead of me in taijutsu, but lagged behind on chakra control, so I thought we'd make a pretty balanced team when the time came.

With my busy schedule, I stopped seeing my friends from the Academy. Every once in a while I would pass them in the hallway, with their sensei, on their way to see the Hokage himself and receive or report on a mission.

I heard Kurenai and Asuma chatting about how they'd been on an escort mission, encountered bandits, and she'd used genjutsu to hold them back.

Gai saw me and ensnared me in a half-hour long discussion of his new training regime, of the spars he did with his teammates and Kakashi, when he could get ahold of him. This made me late for morning sign-ups, and all that was left was garbage-pickup.

When I cut through the training grounds on my way to a delivery, I saw Rin scolding Obito while bandaging his hand – she was training as a Medic – while Kakashi sparred with his sensei, using what seemed like every ninja technique under the sun.

Various other people from my class I saw, heard about, ran into – Mitarashi Anko was training under Orochimaru, one of the Sannin; Gekkou Hayate was proving to be a prodigy with a sword – on and on, everyone was getting further and further ahead while I floundered with no guidance and cobbled-together study materials I barely understood.

Seeing my former classmates, who'd started and graduated from the Academy at the same time as me, most of whom I'd outmatched in test scores, go on missions and get better and better while I was stuck doing D-rank missions and self-studying the best I could, was _embarrassing_. Seeing them only hammered in how far behind I was getting even though I was doing the best I could. I felt like Alice, through the looking glass, running as fast as I could just to stay in place.

But I _knew_ that wasn't true at all. I was moving forward. Slowly, with a great deal of backtracking and wasted time and trying things that didn't quite work out the way I thought they would, I moved forward.

The crystallization of all my efforts came after several months of research, study, and practice. I'd narrowed down how to create elemental chakra. Different books gave different techniques, but visualization seemed to be the most common theme. I made up my mind to try.

I tested each element, one by one. I tried making lightning chakra, by picturing it vibrating so fast it became pure energy; I imagined it focusing into a dense, hot ball until it turned to fire; I tried seeing it splitting into planes and sliding together, creating a cutting edge made of wind.

Nothing worked.

I moved on to water-type chakra. Immediately, something clicked. In my head I held the image of something _flowing_ – something tangible yet formless, gentle yet powerful. I thought about drifting along the current as a ball of light, bobbing up and down as I was carried away. I thought, and spun energy inside my belly. Once I felt it come together, with the image firmly in mind, I brought it up to my hands. The familiar twinge of disgust, that little bit of hesitation was there but I knew it _so well_ after butting up against it so many times, I could simply picture my chakra flowing around it like water around a stone. The chakra soaked my hands. I brought it up to the surface.

Water beaded on my skin. It pooled in my palms and ran through my fingers, down onto the ground where it soaked the earth. It overflowed, down my arms, more and more as I kept feeding it chakra. I stared at my own face reflected in the water.

Suddenly my chakra ran out and I collapsed, exhausted. I breathed hard, hands on the earth as it slowly dried up.

I'd done it.

Gai was right! I thought with effervescent glee. He was right, and I could do it if I tried!

I could be a ninja. I'd proved it to myself. And now I was going to prove it to everyone else.

* * *

On day, late in autumn, maybe six months after I graduated, I received a summons to the mission room. When I arrived, what looked like the entire Genin Corps was milling in front of the mission board, talking up a storm. Unlike the usual individual mission sign-up sheets that were tacked up, the board was covered end to end with a long list.

I burrowed my way through the crowd until I was right up to the board. I scanned it quickly. It was a list of names, I realized, names and ninja registration numbers, followed by a series of five more numbers. I quickly found mine.

Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned around to see Tetsu, frowning at me.

"We're together," he said shortly.

"What?" I answered, blinking dumbly.

He pointed over to a long table on the other side of the room, that I hadn't seen because of the crowd. There were stacks of papers with numbers above them. Two Chuunin supervisors were assisting people.

Tetsu shoved a sheet of paper under my nose.

"Here, I got yours too. No need to thank me. Just pull your weight when we get out there."

I took it and scanned it without reading. It somehow didn't make sense to me. I looked up at blinked a few more times.

Tetsu rolled his eyes and said,

"The _base_ , dumb-face. These are deployment orders. We're being sent as support."

"Why?"

He looked at me, raised an eyebrow and said a single word that blindsided me completely.

"War."

* * *

AN/

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Peace out.


	16. In Which There is Construction

I waited at the gate with my squadron. There were twenty-one of us assigned to the Horinuma base near Kusagakure. Seven teams, all Genin, most of us without a lick of combat experience and with an average age of fourteen.

My pack hung heavy on my shoulders. I'd been told exactly what to bring – basic ninja tools, clothes, emergency provisions, first-aid kit, a compass, flares . . . there was no room in there for books or toys or anything extraneous.

For the occasion, Sumire had gifted me some new clothes. She'd given me boots so I could run in all terrain; a mesh undershirt to serve as armor; protection for my arms and legs; a new, bigger pouch, with a new set of kunai; and a short knife meant to be hidden in my clothes.

"Just draw and swing. Remember, Ukiyo-chan, draw and swing. If you're close enough, go for the throat or the eyes. Don't bother stabbing in the stomach or chest. You won't get past the armor. Better yet, since you're small, try and dive between the legs and slash the inside of your opponent's thigh as you go. You're quick, so don't hesitate."

She'd made me practice it, draw and swing, draw and swing, until she was satisfied I could retrieve it fast enough.

"The Genin Corps don't typically see combat," she said as she laid out my new clothes on the tatami mat, the open sliding doors letting in a cool breeze that made the wind chimes sing. "They mostly do chores around the base – cleaning up, fetching, running messages, or making meals. So don't worry too much, Ukiyo-chan. You'll be back home before you know it."

The final piece she had prepared was a short, dark blue kimono with wide sleeves and a pattern of white and pale lavender flowers. The obi was wine red with leaves embroidered in shiny green thread.

I was horrified when I saw it.

"I can't wear that out there! What if it gets torn, or dirty . . ."

"That's what it's made for, dear."

"But it's such a waste! I can just wear my usual kimono." My usual outfit was utilitarian, light purple with a brown sash, a little faded and worn from repeated washings.

"Ukiyo-chan, you misunderstand. This kimono is tailor-made to be worn in action." Sumire calmly took the garment up and showed it to me up close. "The fabric is durable, fire-retardant, and thick enough to resist glancing blows. The obi has a metal sheet sewn into the front. The sleeves, see," she turned it inside out, "have hidden pockets where you can store documents, and are wide enough to discretely hold most objects and hide any weapons attached to your forearm."

My eyes grew wide as she explained every feature. I held up the obi. Indeed, it was heavier than it should have been, and under the thick brocade, I could feel hard metal. The kimono too was more sturdily constructed than it first appeared.

I turned red, embarrassed, but a little happy, too. It was a beautiful garment, and I would be proud to wear it. Sumire smiled, satisfied.

"Let me see you try it on. I had it made to match your hair and eyes. I'm sure it will look lovely on you."

* * *

As I waited by the gate, anxiety made butterflies dance in my stomach. I drew my hands back into the sleeves of my kimono. The extra weight of the fabric, the padding, the metal in the obi and the mesh undershirt, made me feel more secure – like I was wrapped in a protective cocoon. I felt the knife's sheath against my breastbone, where it was securely tucked into my obi.

"Ukiyo-chan!"

All of a sudden, I heard Gai's voice. I peeked out from my spot in the ranks and saw him running full-tilt towards us. My eyes widened and I quickly dashed out of line to go meet him.

"Gai!" I exclaimed. My breath was cut short by him throwing his arms around me in a quick, tight hug. "What are you doing here? It's six in the morning, don't you have training?"

"I wanted to see you off, and wish you good luck on your mission!" He said, with a sparkling smile. "You're going to do great!"

After a moment's shock, I smiled back. "Thank you. That means a lot." Then I blinked and said, puzzled, "Wait, how did you know I was leaving?"

"Asuma told me! It took some time to get the word out, more than it should have! My apologies for that! If I'd been any faster, we would have had time to throw you a party."

"We?"

He turned around with a flourish and pointed over to the street leading up to the village gate, where in the distance a small crowd was quickly coming into view. My hands flew to my mouth.

The first I recognized was Kurenai. Asuma was next to her. Rin came behind, and then others in my class – Anko, Genma, Hayate, Aoba, Ibiki, Raidou – all people I'd played with at the Academy. Everyone in my class who'd graduated and become Genin were there, even those I didn't know all that well.

"Gai!" Anko whined, gasping for breath. "Did you _have_ to run that fast?! She's not leaving for another fifteen minutes!"

"He does that all the time," Asuma told her. "No use complaining about it."

She puffed out her cheeks and was about to retort when Rin passed in between them and came up to me.

"Ukiyo, long time no see! Why didn't you tell us you were leaving?"

"I, uhm, didn't want to make a fuss?" I scrambled for an excuse because I couldn't tell all these people, who'd evidently been dragged out of bed and made to run all the way out here at the crack of dawn (Genma was still in his pajamas, and Kurenai's hair was a bird's nest) just to see me off, that I just . . . hadn't thought about telling anyone. I hadn't hung out with any of them in months. Some part of me had assumed they wouldn't care much – what with all their important ninja responsibilities and all.

"That's no excuse!" Kurenai said, hands on her hips and frowning harshly. "You should have told us!"

"I'm sorry . . ."

"Damn right you are! Here, take this." She huffed and thrust a package towards me. "I didn't have time to get you anything else, so eat these on the way."

Inside were three little poppy-seed covered cakes.

"Kurenai, let's not be too hard on her," Rin said. She reached inside her pouch and took out a round container, small enough to fit in my palm. "I made this at the hospital. It's balm, for cuts."

"T-thank you . . ." I took both their gifts, too stunned to say anything else. They fit neatly into the pockets in my sleeves.

"Be safe out there," Kurenai said, seriously. "Don't be reckless, and stay out of trouble."

"Kick butt!" Anko exclaimed, fist in the air.

I turned to the people who I was pretty sure weren't my friends and said, "No offence, I can understand Kurenai and Rin's teams being here, but why are you?"

"Solidarity," Genma enunciated with a lazy smile, arms crossed behind his head.

"We're all in the same class. So we stick together," Hayate added, and coughed a little bit. Was he okay? It didn't look like the bags under his eyes were from being woken up so early.

I got solemn nods from Raidou, Aoba, and Ibiki. I nodded back.

Rin looked over her shoulder and frowned, looking a little worried about something.

"What's happening with Obito?" Kurenai whispered to her. "Wasn't he supposed to get Kakashi?"

Rin smiled tightly. "I'm sure he got held up somewhere. This happens a lot . . . oh, there they are! Obito! Over here!" She called out and waved her arms high in the air.

"Sorry we're late!" Obito called back. "This stupid bag of rocks wouldn't get up!"

" _We_ are not late. _You_ were late. Again. How can you call yourself a shinobi when you can't even . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, save it. Hurry up, everyone's waiting!"

"And _whose_ fault is it?"

"Never mind that!"

Behind my friends, Obito came into views, running with his hand firmly around Kakashi's wrist.

"Don't pull me," Kakashi snapped, in a very disgruntled tone.

Genma turned to Rin and said, "I'm _amazed_ you got him to come out here."

Rin clapped her hands together, smiling gleefully. "I had Obito tell him Minato-sensei had an urgent mission for us."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you lied?"

Rin tilted her head to the side. "I like to think it was just a bit of harmless misdirection."

"Rin!" Obito broke out in a huge smile as he finally dragged Kakashi up to the rest of us. The latter ripped his arm out of his grasp and took a quick look around. I saw the light of realization appear in his eyes as he took in everyone's appearances. He frowned, and glared at Obito, whose smirk was rather self-satisfied.

"Is this some sort of prank? This is childish, even for you."

"I wouldn't _have_ to have done it if you weren't such a stuck-up prick." Obito circled around Kakashi and pushed him forward. "Be a decent human being for once and say goodbye to Ukiyo!"

At the sound of my name, Kakashi visibly stiffened. Kurenai and Rin stepped aside so he could finally see me. Our eyes met. He's grown up some since I last saw him.

I averted mine first. It had been four years since our fight. I wasn't _really_ angry anymore, I knew why he'd said what he'd said, but just because I understood it didn't mean I was required to let it go. I had standards, and I wasn't about to let anyone trample all over my feelings without suffering some kind of repercussion – and if it took several more years, well, I had time, didn't I?

Kakashi seemed frozen in place, so I walked up to him.

"Are you ready to apologize?" I said, crossing my arms.

He frowned. "Apologize?"

"Yes. For what you said."

"You mean four years ago? You're still mad about that?" he actually had the nerve to look puzzled.

"Yes, I am," I lied. "Are you going to apologize?"

He rolled his eyes. "That was _ages_ ago."

"And yet, here we are."

"You're being ridiculous. Can't you just let it go?"

"No _I'm_ not being ridiculous, _you're_ being childish. I'm not talking to you until you apologize, that's what I said, and I meant it. If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'I'm sorry', and I mean a _real_ 'I'm sorry,' I'm walking away."

Kakashi fell silent, a thin line of red showing above his mask. He crossed his arms and turned away, giving me the cold shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, fine. Have it your way."

I turned my back to him and addressed the rest of my friends.

"Everyone, thank you very much for coming." I bowed. "It means a lot." I straightened back up and gave them all my best grin. "I'll do my best out there!"

Everyone wished me good luck. Kurenai hugged me tightly, and I thought her eyes looked misty. Anko gave me a fist-bump – unorthodox, but cool. Rin held my hands in hers, looked right in my eyes, and told me to be careful. Gai clapped me on the shoulder and said some words about the power of youth and the importance of never giving up. I clapped his right back and said thank you because his were words I could believe in.

Kakashi watched this all happen with an increasingly bewildered expression. No one asked about our little fight, but some of them worriedly shot him a few looks as we said our goodbyes.

Finally, it was time to walk away. I bowed one last time, and headed back towards my squadron feeling like a lead weight had been placed in my stomach.

"What's going on?" Kakashi asked Rin. "Aren't those the Genin Corps?"

"Yes, they're being deployed."

"I know _that_ , I want to know what Ukiyo's doing here. Is her team going on a mission?"

Rin hesitated for a beat. "Kakashi . . . Ukiyo doesn't have a team. She's in the Genin Corps."

I was halfway back to the rest of the squadron when Kakashi grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.

"You failed the test?!" He exclaimed in my face.

I blinked in shock, then composed myself enough to give him a watery smile. "Yep! Guess I'm not as smart as you thought I was. I win!"

My attempt at humor was completely lost on him. I backed away. His hand slipped from off my shoulder. He looked at me with wide eyes holding a mix of horror and confusion. I could understand the latter, but why the former . . .

It came to me suddenly – why Sumire had given me brand new weapons and gear; why Gai had run around town waking everybody up at the crack of dawn just to say goodbye; why Kurenai had seemed so miffed I didn't tell anyone I was leaving; it hit me like a ton of brick.

I might not come back.

I was unlikely to see any fighting, but I was still going near the front lines. It would be dangerous. They all knew that, somehow, while I hadn't quite realized it yet. War had always been this far-off, abstract _thing_ that happened in other countries, to soldiers with guns and tanks, not to children barely out of school who weren't given a choice in the matter.

I thought about what Kakashi might feel like if I really _didn't_ come home. I thought about what my family must have felt, back in my other life, when I'd left them behind and died without ever speaking to them again; about what _I_ had felt when my mom didn't come home, and when my dad had gone on a mission and it wasn't certain if he would ever make it back. I may not have any concept of war, or what might happen to me out there, but I was all too familiar with being the one left behind.

I didn't know what I meant to Kakashi, but I didn't think he was so heartless or dead inside that my death would mean nothing to him. Or maybe it wouldn't, who knew? I wasn't a mind reader. But even so . . . Leaving him with the potential to taste that kind of regret would be a cruel thing to do, and even though I wanted that apology, I didn't want it so badly that I would risk hurting him like that.

"So, huh, yeah, about that apology?" I twirled my finger through a strand of hair, looking down at the ground. "Sorry I made such a big deal about it. I guess . . . I've got more important stuff to think about now. With the Genin Corps and all. You can forget about it."

He didn't answer. I couldn't look him in the eye. I could only huddle in on myself, suddenly scared beyond measure of what might be ahead, so scared I felt numb and cold. Behind me, the first signal came – a deep booming sound to indicate the imminent departure.

"Ukiyo!" Tetsu called. "We're about to go! Get over here!"

I tried to laugh. It came out weak. "That's my cue. Bye bye, Kakashi. I'll see you when I get back!"

He didn't say a single word to me. Maybe he didn't have anything to say, or maybe he couldn't get it out, but either way the final signal didn't wait for him. The tall gates opened inward. In my spot, among the rows and columns of my fellow genin, I couldn't turn back and wave goodbye. I could only face forward, into the unknown.

At the command of the jounin commander, our squadron marched out. As I crossed the threshold, I thought I heard someone call my name, but we were already on route and whatever I thought I heard was drowned out by the sounds of boots rhythmically pounding the earth.

* * *

It took us four days to reach Horinuma base. We ran most of the way. It was the most exhausting four days of my life. At night when we made camp my legs were so wobbly I could barely get my chores over and done with so I could go and get my meal. The rations didn't taste like anything. I swallowed the dry biscuits, feeling down moving down my throat, and gulped tea to wash them down. I rationed out the cakes Kurenai had given me, so I had a little something to cheer me up every day, a bit of sweetness to look forward to. It made me remember the village, my home, and the people in it. I missed it already.

Once watch duties were assigned, and the sun had fallen, I huddled up in my sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground and tried to sleep as best I could.

* * *

The first order of business once we'd arrived at the base was: construction!

Horinuma was a newly established base, on a hill close to a swampy area on the border of the Land of Fire and the country Kusagakure was in (which no one seemed to know the name of). The base was meant to act as new scouting and surveillance outpost – essentially to keep an eye on any shady movements by Iwagakure. Since it was new, it needed to be built – hence, the presence of the Genin Corps. We were there to serve as manual labor.

As soon as we arrived, we were directed towards the person in charge of overseeing the construction, a jounin woman with large hands, a face cut from granite, and the biggest biceps I had ever seen. She looked us over, and didn't seem overly impressed. She pinched her brow and muttered something I could only hear because I was at the front (pushed there by my fellow genin, none of whom seemed to want to get anywhere near her),

" _Little kids, every last one of them_ . . . Okay, listen up, shrimps!" Her voice boomed across the clearing. We genin jumped as one. "We've got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it. Once you've got your orders, I need you get moving as fast as your little shrimpy legs can carry you, got it? If I see anyone dilly-dallying, it's latrine duty for the next week!"

No one had the courage to groan in dismay, though I was certain I wasn't the only one who wanted to.

"You!"

I jumped. She was staring right at me. My god, she was tall . . .

I snapped to attention. "Yes, captain?"

"See where they're chopping wood?" She pointed to the left where two chuunin teams were using Water and Wind Style to quickly chop down trees and turn them into lumber. "Grab three teammates and carry the beams over to the construction site – that big one over there. Once you're done, come back for another assignment. You . . ." She singled out another genin, who turned white, and gave them orders too.

I picked out my teammates at random, tied my kimono sleeves back, and went to do what I was told.

And so, my first day was spent ferrying construction materials to various places – so far, there was one large semi-finished building that I was told would be the central communications center (which I had a few issues with, especially about the location, which didn't seem ideal to me); semi-permanent barracks; and two storage areas, which would become the focus of my second day, when deliveries of weapons, rations, and other odds and ends came in and had to be unloaded and put away – large crates and boxes nearly as tall as I was. The third day was spent digging a ditch along the perimeter, where the fortifications would be set.

On the fourth, I thought I was given a rest day when I was told to go mind the cookhouse, but that turned out to be a nightmare because there was _nothing_ ruder or more impatient than fifty odd shinobi who'd been doing manual labor all day and were starting to believe I was deliberately trying to starve them by going so slow. Even though I was trying the best I could, there were only two of us and the cookhouse was an absolute _mess_. No hygiene or organizational standards whatsoever. It was like a tornado made of mystery sauces and utensils which I would have bet my left arm were in no way meant to be used in a culinary setting had rumbled its way through a field of vegetables and bewildered barnyard animals, to finally deposit the resulting mess into the tiny slice of hell sarcastically referred to as 'the cookhouse.' The FDA would weep for shame if it saw any of what went on here – right before it mercifully shut us down for health code violations.

By the end of the first week, I was almost too exhausted to stand. I'd never worked that hard in my lives, which I thought would have been a chronological impossibility given all the overtime I'd clocked in my previous life. Even when I was doing missions for the Genin Corps and trying the best I could while trying to train, I still hadn't known what true labor was until I was put to work here.

I sat down on a log by the fire with a bowl of curry. I didn't feel like eating – or rather, eating seemed like such a _pain_ – the effort of chewing, of swallowing, of lifting the spoon to my mouth, it all seemed to be so much more trouble than it was worth. The fact that I couldn't identify half the ingredients floating in my bowl did _not_ help.

The night was slightly chilly. In the cleared out space in the forest, I could look straight up and see the stars. They were beautiful out here, since it was so far from any settlement and the nights were pitch black. I could clearly see the Milky Way. It was such a shame that I couldn't go to sleep staring right at them. I was usually so tired I lost consciousness the second my head hit the hard pillow.

The other genin were off somewhere, playing or sleeping or getting in a few minutes of training ( _how_ was beyond me), so I was alone by the fire until a huge shape came and plonked itself down on the log right across from me.

My body clenched by reflex. It was the captain. She had a mug of something frothy – oh, beer, that was beer. I stared at it enviously for a few seconds before she caught me looking and shot me a grin.

"Want some, shrimp? Bit too early for you, sorry." She took a long gulp that trained half the tankard. "Funny, I think – old enough to be near the front-lines, but not old enough to drink."

Her cheeks looked a little ruddy, or maybe it was the light from the fire, but I suspected this wasn't her first drink. I stayed silent and nibbled on a recognizable chunk of carrot. It was rather badly cooked – still raw in the center. Should the shinobi thing not work out, whoever was on cooking duty had no hope of reinventing themselves as a chef.

The captain stared at me for a while. Her short black hair shone in the firelight. "You . . . what's your name?"

"Fujimi Ukiyo, captain."

She stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing, scaring me so bad I nearly upturned my dinner. She banged her mug on her thigh.

"Fujimi! What a name for a ninja! It can't tell if it's good luck or the absolute worst joke in Konoha history. What a thought, to pick 'immortal' as a surname. Most ninja don't make it past twenty-five!"

This was definitely _not_ her first drink. I tried not to be offended, or worried, about the insinuation that I'd be dead before I hit middle-age, while she snorted and finished her drink, though most of hit had spilled everywhere while she had her little guffaw. She noticed me staring off at anything but her.

"Sorry about that, kid. For you it's not something to joke about, but you know, after so many years in the field, you kinda have to get your laughs wherever you can. And _man_ , does death get funny after a while."

"It's not even _written_ as 'immortal' . . ." I mumbled stiffly.

"Hey, don't mind me," she said, upturning her mug to be absolutely sure there was no stray liquid in it. "If you want my opinion, you're the kind of kid that won't die for a _long_ time."

". . . why's that?"

She looked straight at me and said, "Because you've got a good head on your shoulders. I heard you giving advice to the communication center team."

"They didn't listen to me," I said, a little bitterly. On the first day, as I was carrying lumber, I noticed that the location wasn't ideal – right on top of a swampy patch, which would make the inside too humid and make it difficult to dig out a bunker – not to mention the risk of mold getting ahold of important documents. They said 'genin should be seen and not heard' and 'we're not planning a bunker,' and basically told me to shove off. I had other ideas for the barracks and for how to make the cookhouse more efficient, but it didn't look like my ideas were welcome so I kept my mouth shut and got my work done.

"No, but you were still right. Also, good idea on the bunker. We didn't think of it, since we tend to build bases in the middle of the forest where all those super old trees have root systems that make it impossible to dig anything – usually we build up, not down. To be honest, this base has been a bit of a rush job. The higher-ups didn't give us much time to plan – it was all, 'get it done as quick as possible,' and off we were!"

"Well . . you could move a lot of stuff underground, actually," I started, a little hesitant. "Towards the east side the soil's nowhere near as damp, and there aren't as many trees – it's mostly brush, actually, which could be cleared with controlled fires. It should be fairly easy to dig down and make a storage space. It would free up room and secure supplies in case of an attack. I know this isn't supposed to be a really big base, but . . ." I tapped my finger on my chin. "We could still dig it out pretty quickly with Earth Style. It doesn't _have_ to be under the communication center. But we'd have to extend the fortifications, so that would take additional time . . . also, more ditch digging. It might be best to finish up all the essentials before thinking about extensions . . . unless we can find a way to work in the additional stuff within the framework of what we've already got . . ."

The captain was nodding along as I talked. I had _ideas_. I didn't know much about wartime anything, but I knew how to make efficient use of space. City planning had been my bread and butter when I was alive – although I'd never had to plan anything so specialized as an actual military base. I would readily admit that the actual building designs and whatnot were left to the architects, but I had managed to pick up a thing or two because my boss, the mayor, was an incompetent alcoholic who shafted all of his duties onto me, and if everything was going to flow along smooth as silk, I had better become able to tell the difference between a good and bad design in a hurry. Come to think of it, most of my skills were picked up that way – being given a task, not knowing how to _do_ the task, studying into the wee hours of the morning so I wouldn't look like a fool when _doing_ the task . . . right up until the task was done and I could go drown my sorrows in a glass of Scotch, lamenting the incompetence of everyone around me – or at least, the mayor's reluctance to hire more experienced staff.

The captain leaned back with her arms crossed. She had an odd look on her face, half-way between smug and surprised.

"Tell you what. Come by my office tomorrow morning – you know, the only building we actually have standing at the moment? Can't miss it – and we can talk about it some more."

"Yes, captain."

She grinned. "Call me Kirigane. You know, Fujimi, I think you and I are going to get along swimmingly."

* * *

AN/

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	17. In Which There is Opportunity

The next morning, instead of going to get my daily assignment from whoever was distributing them that day, I knocked on the door of the single-story wooden shack currently serving as headquarters until the command center was up-and-running. It was a little nerve-wracking. Kind of like going in for a job interview. Only instead of dressed to the nines, holding a folder with every conceivable document I might need along with research on both the hiring company _and_ the hiring manager, rehearsing a mental power-point presentation on why I would be a _fantastic_ addition to their team, I was a little grimy, more than a little sweaty, had no documentation whatsoever, and my feeble attempts at coming up with a talking strategy failed miserably because I did not know what I was actually interviewing for.

Was Captain Kirigane going to ask me for my thoughts on the base? Was she going to send me packing because, let's be honest, she was completely wasted last night when she invited me? Would she even _remember_ me? Was I memorable?

"Fujimi, come on in."

I just about jumped out of my skin when I heard her voice. I fiddled with my obi one last time, tugged on the hem of my kimono to make sure everything was as neat as possible, and entered.

"Excuse me," I said, bowing. "Fujimi Ukiyo, reporting as ordered, Captain."

"Don't mind the formalities. Come in, sit, sit."

I looked up. Kirigane waved me over, eyes framed by thick glasses locked onto a scroll she held up high with her other hand. She was sitting sprawled back in her chair, fully parallel to her desk with one leg up on a stack of crates. The desk itself was a jumble of papers, scrolls, half-eaten senbei, and a few kunai and senbon (some of which were stained with was looked suspiciously like blood – and not the old kind). The room wasn't much better. There had been some effort at categorizing everything, most notably by installing shelves and cubicles along the back wall, but that appeared to have been a vain attempt. The place looked like a bull had ransacked a china shop, only the bull was my jounin captain and the precious china was potentially highly classified documents.

In the corner was a sword that looked like a butcher's knife, only me-sized. It did not have a sheath.

I hesitated for a moment, before pulling up an empty crate to sit on. On second thought, I pulled up a second one, stacked them, and climbed on. This way I could actually see over the desk and look my captain in the face. Only, my feet didn't touch the ground and just sort of hung there, waving in midair.

Kirigane read in silence for a bit. I sat demurely with my hands on my knees. Then she hummed, snapped the scroll shut, reached for a long metal-tipped pipe that sat in an ashtray perched on a few books, and tapped the end to the scroll with it. It burst into flames. She held it distractedly over the ashtray. Somehow, most of the ashes ended up literally anywhere but their designated receptacle, including the desk, the floor, the books, some papers, and, because of a conveniently located cross-breeze, my face.

Finally, Kirigane looked at me. She grinned like a wolf.

"Hey, Fujimi. Nice of you to stop by. How's work treating you?" She said and took a puff from her pipe. The smoke had a pinkish shade to it, and smelled sort of like cotton-candy.

I couldn't see her eyes behind those coke-bottle glasses.

"It's been going alright," I answered cautiously. "A lot of carrying stuff around. And digging. Lots of digging. We've begun breaking ground for the third barrack, so there was a lot of clearing bushes." Everybody on my team got at least a dozen splinters, because those bushes were scraggly enough to penetrate the thickest ninja-grade cloth, and also a lot of them insisted on waltzing around with open-toed sandals.

She sighed. "Yeah, that's the Genin Corp life. You're basically a cross between a worker ant and cannon fodder."

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite _that_ way . . ." Not in the presence of a superior officer, I wouldn't.

Kirigane shook her head. "It's the plain truth. No use sugar-coating it. Unfortunate, but somebody's gotta do it. Bases and outposts and supply depots don't build themselves – or _maintain_ themselves, which is the part most Chuunin-track shinobi kind of skip over. Messages have to be delivered, meals have to be made, cleanup has to get done, supplies have to be carried _over_ , the injured have to be carried _back_ , and it's generally a pain all around. War, I mean. It's not just about deploying people, fighting, then coming home all battle-scarred and victorious – nah, there's _work_ to be done. A bunch of nitty-gritty stuff the elite ninja don't have time to get wrapped up in because they're getting the 'killing people' part taken care of. That's where I come in. Do you know what I do, Fujimi?"

"You build bases."

"Yeah, that's part of it." She tapped her pipe on the desk. A bit of ash smoldered on the wood. "I don't have an official unit, but I'm a Special Jounin with a specialization in logistics. I'm in charge of building up our ground presence around hot areas – by that I mean places where fighting can, will, or already has broken out. You said it best – I build bases. I'm in charge of making sure we're actually _capable_ of fielding troops wherever the fighting could break out and maintaining our network behind the front lines. That involves assuring the clean flow of information, managing new and existing bases, coordinating supply trains, and providing a clear path of retreat in case things go pear-shaped. You with me, Fujimi?"

"Yes, Captain." It seemed fairly straight-forward.

Kirigane leaned back and kicked her feet up. "It's not a fancy job – not really what people have in mind when they decide to become shinobi. There's not much fighting involved, unless somebody _really_ messes up. Me and my team don't get much recognition. We don't get cool nicknames, or rumors about us, or our names in the Bingo Book. But," she held up her index finger. There was a long scar on her wrist. "We make sure the war machine runs silky smooth. That's what I do, in a nutshell." Kirigane motioned to the papers surrounding her. "So, given all that spiel, why do you think I brought you here?"

"Because you think I can help you with all that."

"Sort of. I wrote down the ideas you pitched last night. I went over them this morning. Not bad, given that I don't think you have any experience in this area."

Two things came to mind: one, that there was no possible way for her to know how much experience I _actually_ had, and two, that I was fairly impressed she managed to remember all that while plastered.

"Unfortunately, while I agree with a lot of what you said, I can't actually apply any of it. Not to Horinuma."

I nodded. "You'd need to get approval, right? I guess new base or outpost plans need to be run by the Hokage."

"Bingo. Horinuma is already set. I _could_ do some back and forth with the village, but we don't have hawks yet and even so, it's such a pain doing this stuff in writing. Horinuma isn't _that_ important. The higher-ups have better things to do than argue with me about a minor outpost – they want snappy results."

"Why don't we have hawks yet? How are we communicating?"

"We're not, for now, unless you're counting runners for emergencies. We were _supposed_ to get a few handlers here last week, but they got held up. Anyway, what I need from you is some assistance. Nothing back-breaking or really all that important, but I could use someone to make my life easier. You've got good ideas, so I'd like to see what you're made of. Think you can handle life as a gofer?"

"Oh, you want a personal assistant," I said, eyes widening. "Someone to fetch stuff, carry messages, maybe . . ." My eyes quickly rotated around the room. ". . . Do some light organizing?" I couldn't help a little pleading from making its way into my tone. My fingers practically itched to get started.

Kirigane laughed.

"You got it, stuff like that. You look like there's some sense in that brain, which I like. You're good at taking orders, but you can think for yourself. And I can guess you're tired of digging ditches by now."

That was putting it so lightly it could've been a feather on the moon. "Yes, Captain. Also . . ." I gathered up my words because hey, opportunities like this didn't come by too often and I had to _try_. "If I can't help with Horinuma, don't you have some other plans in the works that I could help with? I know I'm only a Genin, but I'm a fast learner and if you tell me what you're looking for, I could . . ."

"Let me stop you right there," she held up her hand. "Details about bases, especially future outposts, and _especially_ with the war going on, are strictly classified – Chuunin and up, on a need-to-know basis. Can't have our entire logistical strategy leaked ahead of time."

My heart fell. Even if I knew I could do it, even if I was capable of learning and being useful, no one would take me seriously because of my rank.

". . . But," Kirigane continued. "If I happen to have some questions for you . . . if I decide to pick your brain a little . . . all theoretical, mind you, _strictly_ theoretical . . . and if you happen to have good answers, well, no one needs to know where those answers came from. So, Fujimi, are you with me?"

Kirigane's smile was at once calculating and playful. My lasting impression was that she would make an excellent boss.

* * *

I started by cleaning up Captain Kirigane's workroom. It was, quite frankly, a disaster zone. 9 on the Richter scale, Category 5 hurricane, flood and nuclear meltdown included. Her method for dealing with important documents was to go, "Eh, they're sealed anyway," and toss them in a heap somewhere. So I used those convenient shelves to sort everything out, which is what they were probably meant for anyway. It would have been much more efficient had I known what was in them, but my clearance level was nowhere near high enough. I was warned that I _could_ open them – provided I was okay with losing a few fingers.

Fortunately, the scrolls had color-coded ends, so I could at least organize them that way. It took me about two hours, and when I showed Kirigane, she pushed her glasses up with a finger and carefully examined the whole arrangement, occasionally pulling one out to double-check. When she was done, she gave me a grin and a thumb's up.

From then onwards, whenever Kirigane needed a document, she'd call out, 'top shelf, third from the bottom,' or 'fourth cubicle from the right, the one on top,' and I would fetch the right one. It was a much better arrangement than before, in my opinion. Though 'controlled chaos' seemed to have been her previous _modus operandi_ , she didn't seem to mind at all – and she never forgot each scroll's location.

I followed that little task up with a thorough cleaning, top to bottom. Dusting and sweeping and wiping blood off the desk and cleaning up her kunai and putting them away where they belonged (in an anteroom holding all her personal belongings – which included more knives than should have been necessary for a bureaucratic mission), until the room was spick and span. Carrying that oversized butcher's knife was . . . a challenge.

I felt a sense of immeasurable pride when a Chuunin officer walked in for the first time after I'd taken up my new position and just stood there, mouth gaping, at Kirigane sitting in the middle of a neatly arranged, crumb and blood-free desk, backed by a wall of color-coded scrolls and books (arranged in the order of the rainbow), with me in the back arms full of newly delivered missives to be sorted and put away. Kirigane looked up, grinned, and kicked her feet up.

"Your report?" she asked, casual as could be.

The Chuunin looked at her. He looked at me. He looked like he wanted to say something but decided that whatever Kirigane's steady teeth-baring smile and sharpening eyes hid wasn't worth it. He gave his report. He talked about how some potentially dangerous presences were observed just beyond the border. I listened carefully as I climbed the crates and finished my job.

After he'd been dismissed, I went up to Kirigane and asked her,

"Was I not supposed to hear that?"

"Hum?" She looked up from the document she was reading. It was a supply list. "Technically? No, you weren't. Reports are only supposed to be made to the commanding officer."

"Then shouldn't I have left?"

She looked at me. "Is your tongue feeling especially wriggly today?"

"No."

"Then there's no problem."

And back to work I went.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, as construction proceeded steadily on, I kept on working at Kirigane's beck and call. I delivered messages all around camp, including work orders to my fellow Genin Corps members (some of which *cough*Tetsu*cough* weren't especially happy to be ordered around by a pint-sized peer), fetched tea, carried belongings, and even assisted during a progress meeting with the rest of the Jounin officers by taking notes and fetching documents as required. I may not technically have clearance, but Kirigane was in charge and what she said went, at least as far as Horinuma was concerned. I was only booted out of the room once the conversation turned to the topic of other bases.

Every so often she'd call me in to her workroom, if I wasn't there already, and asked me some questions.

"Between bordering a cliff and in a cave, which is most secure?"

"The cliff," I answered. "Unless the cave has an escape route, it's basically a trap."

"River, lake, sea, which is a better source of water?"

I had to think about that one. After a day, I came back with an answer.

"A lake. A river could be poisoned from upstream."

"If you had to add one thing to an outpost to increase morale, what would it be?"

I made a face. "A bathhouse."

"Look at this map," she unraveled a roll of parchment paper. "Where would you draw a supply route from here to here?"

I considered the terrain and traced a line with the tip of a finger.

And so on and so forth. Questions about accessibility, arrangements of buildings, one or two more about route planning, and once or twice, very seriously, about what I would do if a supply line was compromised or a base cut off from all communications. Those I had only tentative answers to, but she didn't seem to mind. I had a feeling some of the questions were either her getting a second opinion or testing my thought processes. There was no way for me to tell what she took into account or what exactly she was referring to – even the maps she showed me had no context, or even scale. That was on purpose, I would wager. Personal assistant or not, there were some things I just wasn't allowed to know.

I was fine with that. For now.

But the real benefit of this job became clear almost immediately.

At the end of the day, I wasn't tired. A small change, but it made a world of difference.

I could actually train now.

Not just in the evening after my meal, but during the day, too. Once I'd gotten used to how Kirigane worked, at what time she liked to take breaks, have tea, take walks around the base, I could squeeze in short training sessions during the slow hours. I could even train while working.

Walking up walls? Very useful for retrieving stuff on high shelves _and_ for practicing chakra control. Speed and agility training? Those messages would be delivered as fast as possible – via ridiculously convoluted route passing through multiple active construction sites. I even managed to make progress in Nature Transformation – by controlling the flow of water out of the tea kettle. At first, I was only pulling it towards the cup (having found that manipulating existing water was much easier than creating it, and actually not that different from moving chakra around), but after a few weeks I could make the water stream do a few loops on its merry way to the tea cup. It involved quite a number of spills and more than just a few burns, but nothing that I couldn't heal on my way back to Kirigane's office. After a while, it occurred to me that I didn't have to use nearly-boiling tea, and that regular water would work just fine.

At night, my excess energy allowed me to work on strength and endurance – I still didn't have much of an idea of how I was supposed to train, but I knew routines and exercises from my Academy days, and kunai throwing is rather straight-forward.

The construction of Horinuma base progressed as scheduled. Once the command center was up and running, I was tasked with organizing the interior. There was a conference room, a storage room, a little kitchen, and a workspace for whoever happened to be in command (Kirigane's presence was only temporary, while the base was still in construction). I asked Kirigane for some extra storage space and furniture and whatnot, and she seemed happy to provide. Once everything was set up, I carried over all the documents from her temporary office, put them all away, and for a neat touch arranged some flowers in makeshift bamboo vases.

Kirigane then put me in charge of managing the command center. I was all too happy to do this in addition to my duties as her assistant. I was even given a special scroll to record visitors and make appointments with, keyed to my chakra and Kirigane's so we were the only ones with access. I carried it around tucked in my sleeves. It made me feel very important.

None of this was even close to the level of responsibility I'd attained and enjoyed in my previous life, but it was startingly close to what I'd done at the start of my career. It confirmed what I already knew: I had to become a Chuunin to progress any further.

* * *

One day, I was making tea in the little command center kitchen and up to my usual tricks with the water – today I'd poured it into a shallow wooden dish and was practicing gathering it up into a ball in my palm. It was kind of funny – it made it feel sort of like a big blob of jelly that I could do a kind of yo-yo thing with if I moved my hand up and down.

Bounce, bounce.

I tossed the water ball up and caught it. It rippled like a water balloon. I tossed it back up.

"That's a cool trick."

I squeaked and lost control. The water landed on my hand and exploded in my face. But that was the least of my problems right now. I looked over my shoulder to see Kirigane leaning against the doorframe. I was frozen, and not just because the cold water I'd been working with was now dripping down my front.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm curious, though. What's a Genin doing practicing Nature Transformation?"

"I, hum . . ." I mumbled something like 'chuunin' and 'practice' while I fetched a rag from the cupboard.

"Speak up, Fujimi."

I turned around fully, still not looking at her, still half-expecting a scolding for not doing as I was told, which was 'make tea,' not 'play with a water balloon.'

"I want to become a Chuunin," I said.

Kirigane nodded. "Makes sense. Would suck to spend your career in the Genin Corps. So, what's the story? Your teammates passed without you?"

". . . .no," my stomach dropped. Explaining this part never stopped being anything short of mortifying.

"Oh, did they die?"

"No, I was failed."

She didn't answer. I glanced up. This was the first time I'd ever seen Kirigane outright flabbergasted. She openly stared at me.

"You were failed." She repeated flatly. "By who?"

"By my sensei."

"You. _You_ were failed."

"I was," I cringed, my cheeks turning red.

"Why?"

I spoke robotically. "I have no battle sense. My reflexes are abysmal. My taijutsu is irredeemable. I'd probably get killed on the front lines. So I ended up in the Genin Corps, because it was better than quitting altogether."

Kirigane clearly didn't know what to say. I went back to mopping the table.

After a while I stopped. The towel was soaked through. "I'm not going to stop," I said quietly, staring at my hands. "Even if that's all true. I just . . . don't really know what I'm supposed to do now."

"Why Nature Transformation?" she asked.

I shrugged, gathering up the towel, and tossed it in a nearby bucket. I grabbed the tea kettle. "It looked neat."

Kirigane burst out laughing. I looked over at her and she was doubled over, holding her stomach.

"You're a riot, Fujimi," she said, wiping a tear away.

"What's so funny?" I snapped, placing the kettle down on the table a little harder than was necessary. "I didn't know what to work on, so I picked something interesting."

"No, Fujimi, I'm not making fun of you. Don't sulk. Here, look at me."

I did as I was told. Kirigane took off those coke-bottle glasses and looked right into my eyes with seriousness emerging from behind mirth.

"Nature Transformation is a Jounin-level skill. Most shinobi don't start working on it until after they make Chuunin, and can take oh, maybe ten years to master a single type. You've got the freaks and the outliers, like the Uchiha clan, but on the whole to achieve a single type of Nature Transformation in so short a time, at such a young age, is nothing short of _amazing_."

I flushed scarlet.

"It can't be that hard . . ." I grumbled, shifting in place.

"It is, Fujimi. It's half the reason I'm only a Special Jounin and not a full one. Jounin are expected to master two. I only know one. My chakra type's fire, by the way."

"Chakra type?" I asked, tilting my head.

"You don't know your type?"

"I didn't know there were types. I just saw this stuff in a scroll and thought it looked neat."

That set Kirigane off again. She banged her fist against the wall, shaking with laughter. At this point it was getting to be somewhat annoying.

"Well, I'm glad my ignorance is amusing to you," I said acidly.

"No, no, I'm not laughing _at_ you, I swear . . ." she said, and immediately choked on nothing but air. After a few seconds she'd gotten ahold of herself again and faced me with tears in her eyes and a flushed face. But she also looked delighted.

"Tell you what, Fujimi. You want a sensei, right? You want to be a Chuunin."

"Yes," I said cautiously.

"I'll train you."

My eyes flew wide open.

"I'm not a full-fledged Jounin. I can't be your official sensei, and I can't sponsor you for the exams. But I can give you pointers."

"But why?" I said in a strangled voice. "I was _failed_. I'm in the Genin Corps, I'm not . . ."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, Fujimi. You've got a good head, and you're a hard worker. You're the best assistant I've ever had. And now I know that your chakra control is excellent to boot."

"I . . ."

"See, Fujimi, there's this tendency among Konoha shinobi to put too much emphasis on pure combat strength. Basically, there are a lot of Jounin sensei who think that if you can't hold your own in hand-to-hand, you'd be useless in the field. I disagree. I specialize in logistics, you know. I _hate_ wasted potential. Besides, I took a look at your file before taking you on as an assistant – I wouldn't pick some random kid to work for me. I thought it was a bit weird it didn't say anything about your team, but I guess that wasn't such a mystery after all. Your intelligence scores were unusually high, right? So, I figured there might be something interesting about you. Of course, I was right. I usually am. Actually, no, I _always_ am.

"I think you can be a ninja, and an excellent one at that. So here's my first piece of advice as a sensei."

Kirigane leaned down so she could look at me eye-to-eye. Her gaze pierced through me, pale and sharp, so it like looking into a will as hard as a diamond.

"If you can't fight straight-out, then _don't_. If you can't throw a punch, or a kick, or cut them with a fancy sword, then get them before it ever comes to that. Learn genjutsu. Learn long-distance ninjutsu. Get so quick and so sneaky they'll never see you coming. Set traps, throw poison bombs, dump enough explosives to level a building. Make a fireworks party out of it! And if that fails? If you get cornered at close range? Then _struggle_. Kick sand in their face. Use your head, figure something out that'll catch them off-guard. Be _so_ fierce and _so_ determined they won't know what hit them.

"Every ninja has weaknesses. Every. Single. One. Every prodigy, every golden child, every pint-sized Jounin running around with fancy A-ranked ninjutsu or overpowered eyes _can be beaten_ if you figure out their weak point. You already know yours. Now all you have to do is figure out how to win in spite of it. Win by being smarter, cleverer, more flexible, more prepared, more _determined_.

"But no matter what, as long as you're my student, the one thing you are _not_ allowed to do is give up. Not on yourself, not on your teammates, not on victory.

"The best shinobi create their own opportunities. So, here's yours, Fujimi. Right here in the flesh."

* * *

AN/

This one got away from me a little bit. I only intended to have it take up half a chapter.

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Peace out.


	18. In Which Ukiyo Runs

Kirigane clapped her hands together.

"Let's get started! Guess what we'll be doing first."

I shuffled awkwardly from side to side. We were in an empty space behind the command center that served as a makeshift storage depot. We'd cleared crates and piles of stuff to make a decently sized dirt arena. I didn't quite know how any of this was supposed to go, but I was nervous and excited to get started.

I tilted my head to the side. "Sparring? To determine my level?"

"Excellent guess! But wrong. I pretty much already know what you need to work on. No sense in beating your face into the ground just yet."

Well gosh, wasn't _that_ promising.

"There are two things I want to teach you that I think will be the most useful in the short term. First," she held up one finger. "I'm going to teach you to run. Two," second finger went up, so she was basically giving me the 'v for victory sign.' I wasn't sure if it was intentional. "How to hide. We can go from there. You with me?"

"Yes, sensei."

Kirigane's smile broadened at the title. "Okay, here's how we're gonna do this. To start us off, I'm going to teach you a neat little trick I like to call the 'ghost jutsu.' That's not what it's called, obviously, but since I can't remember the actual name, that's what we're going for. Can you guess what the ghost jutsu does, Fujimi?"

"It turns you into a ghost." I thought about it for a moment. "I'm guessing it erases your presence? By camouflaging, or hiding your chakra, or something like that?"

"Correct. Basically, it's a method of breathing and bodily control that erases your chakra signature and any other sign of your presence. Combined with a decent grasp of how to hide in your environment, and even sensors won't be able to pick you out. See, a good chunk of battle is based on reflexes and gut feelings – that ability to hone your unconscious sense of danger and natural instincts to the point where even if you can't _see_ something you _know_ it's there and your body reacts even before you have time to think. This technique is a good counter to that. It makes it possible to get the drop on anybody, especially those pesky shinobi who rely a little too much on those instincts. So, take a stance, and take a deep breath. Go on . . ."

Kirigane walked me through the steps. Basically, I had to keep still and suppress my chakra down as much as I could, to the point where I almost couldn't feel it anymore. It took an almost stupid amount of focus, even though I wasn't doing anything much more taxing than standing still.

I pictured my chakra as flowing water, because that seemed to be the most effective way of getting a grip on it. Fluid, warm, flowing like rivers and tiny streams inside my veins.

I had to kind of . . . push it down? Make every stream as small as possible without cutting off my chakra completely. Of course, chakra, like water, didn't _want_ to be suppressed. It wanted to run along merrily in my veins, and I could feel it protesting as I kept an unwavering stranglehold on it. It was the opposite of what I usually did with it, which was focusing it and making it stronger – it was kind of like damming up a river, actually. I wondered what would happen if I let it all go at once.

Kirigane nodded approvingly and motioned for me to stop.

"The problem with this technique is that it can kind of hurt when you release it too quickly after holding it back for too long. For stuff like long stakeouts, you're better off relying on physically hiding and controlling your movements and breathing. They taught you that at the Academy, right?"

I nodded. Proper hiding procedure had, in fact, been included in the curriculum. Often taught alongside emergency drills, actually. So if an enemy ninja attacked the school we'd have half a change of escaping without getting a kunai to the throat. I was still rather bitter that we had to be taught that as children.

"How much does it hurt? Letting it go after a long time?" I inquired, curious.

Kirigane made a face. "Ever broken a bone?"

"Yes."

"About a hundred times worse."

"Oh." That wasn't helpful in the least. I didn't know what I'd expected. Oh well, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

"Okie-dokie, next step!" Kirigane stepped back to a pile of crates and reached down. Out came the butcher knife. It kept coming. And coming. She heaved it up and rested the back of it on her shoulder, casually hanging her arm on the handle.

Her grin was wicked. That knife still did not have a sheath.

"I personally think _doing_ is the fastest way to learn," she said. She tapped her index finger to her chin. "Although I've never taught anyone before."

The glint in her eye was downright evil.

"So, Fujimi, let's see how fast you can run!"

I turned on my heel and hightailed out of there.

I felt the swish of displaced air and dove to the right. The knife came down where I'd been standing and carved a deep gash into the ground. Kirigane's shoulder muscles bulged as she hoisted it out with a great burst of displaced earth and swung it round towards me. I ducked back like I was doing the limbo. It passed over my chest and sliced through one of my braids. White hair scattered in the wind.

"Oops."

The shockwave from the swing knocked me flat on my back. I rolled and scrambled to my feet, trying to think of some way out. I had to run. Not fight. Run. My eyes roamed the area. Crates and boxes; a tarp; the forest. But she was charging towards me again and I didn't have time to think of an exit strategy. I turned around and ran.

"Hey Fujimi!" Kirigane called, and I looked over my shoulder to see her jump in the air, sword held up high like it was stabbing the sun, ready for a downwards swing. "Taking your eyes off the enemy?"

I had two seconds to get out of the way before a cleaver the size of _me_ cut me in half, length-wise.

"NOT A GOOD IDEA!" She roared.

I did the first think that popped in my head. I kicked off and swan-dove straight into a pile of lumber.

The whole thing came crashing down, half on top of me, kicking up a huge cloud of dust. _'Splinters, splinters everywhere, oh god is that a spider'_ were pretty much the only thoughts running through my head, and then quickly _'gotta go gotta go.'_ I crawled my way out of the wood pile under cover of the dust (gathering a magnificent collection of scratches and bruises in the process) and ran full-tilt towards the forest.

Once I'd passed the tree-line, I realized two things: one, that this was the only place with enough cover to conceivably get out of Kirigane's sight, and two, that _oh my god oh my god she's coming she's coming I'm gonna die again please god oh cruel god HELP some help would be nice you inconceivably stupid office peon you put me here so HELP ME OUT_

Of course no such help came, because why would it? It never had before. I kept running, arms and legs pumping wildly, and I knew part of the point was to erase my presence so I could complete the 'hiding' portion of this sadistic mix of tag and hide-and-seek, but I did not see how I could conceivably gather enough focus to do it with my heart jackrabbiting in my chest, wild panic wiping my mind clean, and, oh, the devil incarnate swinging a butcher knife at my back.

So, to cut a short story even shorter, that chase ended with Kirigane still swinging with wild abandon, so much so that she chopped a tree in half that happened to be the one I was hiding behind, causing it to almost squish me flat as a pancake.

She caught it before it did that. Her muscles were absolutely unbelievable. She tossed the log aside like a twig, shouldered her sword, looked down at me, and said,

"Come on, let's try that again. Less screaming this time, maybe?"

Oh, had I been screaming? Funny, I was too busy _running for my life_ to notice.

I was absolutely going to have a heart attack before this deployment was over. Only I probably wouldn't notice it. So I would die. Screaming and bewildered. That was how my life was going to end.

How perfect.

* * *

That particular exercise went on for . . . a long time. Every day, after various administrative and base-related duties were taken care of, Kirigane would chase me around the block a few times. I tried running into the forest; into camp, once or twice, before realizing what a horrible idea that was (too many witnesses to my panicked banshee screeches); and into the command center, thinking I could hide under a desk or something (too high a risk of collateral damage – the paperwork had done nothing wrong). But mostly the forest was my destination. It suffered greatly under Kirigane's butcher swings.

It took me a while, but I could do the 'running' portion of the exercise without losing my other braid, or a spare limb, or too much dignity (I no longer screamed), but the hiding portion eluded me. Kirigane didn't seem too worried about it though.

"You'll get it. Eventually," she said.

"What if I don't?" I said. I twisted my hands together to try and quell the anxiety churning in my stomach. "What if I really can't do it in a real fight? What if I freeze, or . . ."

Kirigane looked up from the sword laying across her lap, which she was in the middle of polishing. She frowned and wagged a grease-covered finger at me. "Hey now, you'll just fry your brain thinking of stuff like that. Relax. Have a drink! There's juice. Kids like juice, right?" She reached into her pocket and tossed a small bottle my way.

I caught it without looking. "But . . ."

"You're getting ahead of yourself." Kirigane picked up a polishing stone and ran it in long strokes along the flat of the blade. "No one knows how they'll react when face to face with danger. Some people who are great in practice freeze up. Others who've been considered failures surpass all expectations. It's hard to tell ahead of time."

"So . . . I could freeze?"

"You could," she said. A pang of dread went through me. "Or you could move faster than you ever have before – as if your mind was crystal clear, before you even have a chance to think. That happens sometimes."

Suddenly, seemingly unprompted, Kakashi's face came to mind. It had happened over four years ago, but I still remembered it – it was one of those images, like the graveyard where my parents were buried, my father's body in his haori, the dog on the forest floor, that were carved into the back of my mind – the look on his face when he saw his father covered in blood. Horror-stricken, catatonic. It chilled me just thinking back on it. He hadn't responded to anything I said. He hadn't spoken a word. He'd held my hand so tight it turned numb.

You never know how someone might react to a situation until it happens. Kakashi may have been a brilliant child – but even he had frozen in the face of a sight too shocking to comprehend. He knew first aid. He had known he needed to get help, surely, somewhere in the back of his mind, known what the proper course of action was . . . but no force on earth would have enabled him to do it.

Talent and training did not make up the whole of a shinobi. Circumstances, personality, history, moods, idiosyncrasies, luck, so much factored into what made you a unique person that it was impossible to predict every reaction you might have, feeling you might experience, action you might take before the fact.

I had never fought before. I had never been on the receiving end of truly murderous intent. I had never been in life-threatening danger. Kirigane, for all that she came after me with as much force as she could, would never actually cut me in half. Therefore, I had no way of knowing how I might react to a real battle.

That thought ate away at me as my training continued – that I might truly be unable to face any sort of dangerous situation. I was scared to death that no training in the world would make up for my shortcomings.

As it turned out, I would come face to face with that uncertainty sooner than anyone had planned.

* * *

It was a rainy day. I was carrying a box full of scrolls from the delivery cart which had arrived that morning, a few days later than scheduled. Kirigane had sent me off first thing after I reported in, muttering something about late deliveries as she pored over a map of the region, brow heavily wrinkled.

This had been a recurring problem as of late. A shipment of nails and other building materials was delayed for a week, due to a mudslide in a nearby pass. But even though it was slowing down construction, it was still the least of our problems.

The most pressing one was information. It was difficult to send reports back and forth between nearby bases, because the hawk handlers still hadn't arrived and Kirigane was reluctant to send runners out so close to enemy territory, especially given the issues we were having with the terrain. She showed me a map one evening – how the path to the closest outpost, north-east of us, because of some mountains and marshy terrain, had to run close to a river which marked the border with the Land of Earth. There were several other bases, further inside Kusagakure, but the distances were great – and since our presence wasn't fully established in the area, there was no way to tell what might be out there. Encountering enemy patrols or scouting teams was a possibility. We'd been in the dark practically since construction had started.

And now we were having trouble with mud and rockslides over the path our supply wagons were taking. No one had ever reported anything out of the ordinary at those scenes, but Kirigane was hesitant to chalk it up to plain bad luck.

Even so, construction proceeded regardless of the setbacks. Bunkhouses were built up and the fortifications were progressing quickly. Everybody was working hard to make up for lost time.

I jogged down the path among half-constructed wood buildings, the large box blocking most of my view. I balanced it carefully, so the scrolls wouldn't go flying out of the open top, while looking down at my feet so I wouldn't trip. I needed to hurry up. Kirigane needed these . . .

I heard the sound of something flying, a kind of _whoosh_ , then something round and black landed on the road in front of me and rolled to a stop near my boot. I blinked.

I had a moment to think,

' _Smoke bom . . .'_

Black smoke hit me in a flash. It filled my nose and stung my eyes, and I dropped the crate to slap my hands over my mouth. I couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I heard the sounds of multiple more explosions, then metal on metal and a voice calling out,

"Attack! Attack!"

I staggered to the side of the road, coughing uncontrollably, until I ran straight into the side of a building. I felt my way forward until I found some crates and collapsed between them and the wall. I couldn't open my eyes. I heard battles starting, more screams and yells and the rumbling of jutsu. The smell of smoke, hot and thick, clung to my nose and throat.

My heart was pounding, I could taste blood in the back of my mouth, and I was so scared I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do.

' _Somebody . . . help . . .'_ I thought.

But no one would come. I had to do this myself.

I got my breathing under control just like Kirigane had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth, steady. First order of business: I needed to _see_.

I focused my chakra. This took me a few tries, with how shaken I was, but I eventually managed to muster enough to do what I wanted. I put my palms on my eyes and tipped my head back. Water welled up in my hands and streamed down my face, washing my eyes clean. I shook my head and blinked a few times. The wall opposite me came into view, still blurry.

An explosion rang out to my left and I ducked down, hands over my ears as I was showered with large splinters and blasted rock. Footsteps passed me by. Someone screamed.

I used the wall to support myself as I got to my feet. I was still coughing a little and it was hard to breathe, but the smoke was dissipating in the rain. Kirigane. I had to find Kirigane.

I kept to the shadows as I made my way towards the command center. Out in the open, our forces were fighting the intruders – I caught a glimpse of a foreign headband: Iwagakure. My heart skipped a beat as two fighters landed close by and exchanged blows, kunai against kunai. In the confusion, it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. I scanned the scene, trying to make out the situation – how many invaders? What level? Anything I could get might be useful.

And then I saw Tetsu.

He was fighting a few feet away, hands in front of him in the trademark Hyuuga-style taijutsu. He exchanged blows with an Iwa ninja twice his size – his foot slid in the mud – shock flashed on his face as he lost his balance and fell back. The shinobi drew his sword . . .

I didn't think. I moved. He had his back to me. All that was running through my mind were Sumire's words, and the gesture she'd made me practice, over and over and over and over . . .

' _Draw and swing.'_

I reached into my obi, drew the knife, dove between the shinobi's legs and swung. I shut my eyes tight as I felt something hit the blade and forced myself to _pull_ , as hard as I could, dragging it through something firm. The tip grated on bone.

Something hot splashed onto my left side and the wet knife slipped out of my hand. I hit the ground, dazed, my heart pounding in my ears. For a moment I couldn't move. Then someone grabbed the back of my kimono and tugged. I heard yelling close to my ear.

"Ukiyo! Get up, stupid!"

I opened my eyes. The left side of my vision was tainted red and I stared right back at Tetsu, who grabbed my arm and kept pulling.

"Get up!" he yelled.

I got my feet underneath me. I saw the knife lying in the mud in front of me, covered in red. I picked it up. It felt sticky, and so did my entire left arm and the side of my face. I tried to wipe it off, but only smeared more everywhere.

Tetsu pushed me behind him and took his stance once more. Belatedly, I thought about his attacker. I looked over Tetsu's shoulder. The man was lying on the ground, struggling to get up as he bled out.

Images flashed through my mind. Kakashi's living room – Sakumo, bleeding out on the tatami mats – Kakashi's small body, in the dark, backlit by lightning – the blood on my hands as I pressed down on Sakumo's stomach – the stickiness binding my hand and Kakashi's together – the feeling was the same, the sight was the same, that bright, almost candy-red, sticky and warm where it soaked my sleeve.

I stared at the man as he struggled. There was mortal fear on his face.

"Oy!" Tetsu jabbed his elbow into my ribs. I snapped out of it and looked back at him. He glared at me. "If you're just going to stand there, get out of the way!"

I looked around. The camp was overrun. Everywhere I looked there was an Iwa shinobi, a fire, an explosion, a body. I still held the knife. Everybody was fighting. I had to fight too. I didn't know how, couldn't think straight, but I knew that I must, so I would. I stepped up next to Tetsu with my knife in hand.

There was an earth-quaking roar.

Kirigane landed in the middle of the camp, right in front of us with five jounin at her back and heaved her giant meat cleaver up. Fire sprang up where she gripped the handle.

"OUTTA MY WAY!"

Everybody with a leaf headband hit the ground. Kirigane wound up her swing with a full rotation, the fire climbing further and further up her blade.

"Fire Style: Fire Wave Jutsu!"

Her swing sent out a shockwave. The fire burst from her blade in an arc that swept shinobi and building alike in a burning wave. On its heels the jounin moved in to dispatch the leftovers. In five seconds, the immediate area was clear. She looked grimly around as everyone started to get back up, assessing the damage. I saw her bite her lip. For a moment, frustration and anger flashed on her face.

"Captain," a shinobi came up to her. "I have a report."

"Speak."

"The camp is surrounded, captain. I don't know how they did it, but Iwa got the drop on us."

"Numbers?"

"Fifty, captain."

"Alright." Kirigane rubbed the bridge of her nose, brow furrowed. She heaved a deep sigh and raised her voice. "LISTEN UP! GENIN! Your orders are to evacuate! Get the hell out of here and leave the fighting to Chuunin and Jounin."

"But captain, if we send the Genin out there, they won't make it."

"You think they'll make it _here_?" She gestured to the battlefield. "I want Squads one through ten with me. We'll clear a path through the forest to the north so the genin can escape. The rest of you, eleven through twenty-one, start emergency reinforcement measures. Watch our backs. Don't fight if you don't have to, you understand? Fortify and keep them away until backup gets here."

My heart sunk. I knew full well that there was no way to get backup. We had no hawks.

Out beyond the fortifications, I could hear the second wave of Iwa soldiers. It sent a chill down my spine.

"Move it, people!" Kirigane yelled.

As everyone met up with their squadrons and hurried to their various posts, Kirigane took a knee on front of me. It felt like we were in a quiet bubble of our own, surrounded by a flurry of chaos.

"Fujimi, I've got another mission for you," she said rapidly, in a low voice. "Remember that map I showed you?"

"The one with the routes and the bases?"

She nodded. "I need you to get to one of them as fast as you can. Try the outpost to the north-east, but if that's too dangerous, then go for the two bases further south. If you can't do that, get as far into Kusagakure as you can. Keep going south until you hit a patrol. Don't engage, and keep yourself hidden. I want to say don't take risks, but that's not an option right now. Just get word of this to somebody, _anybody_."

"We need help," I said, realizing what she was saying. Hope welled up inside my chest. "We don't have the numbers to hold them back. We don't have the supplies, either, or a place to hide . . ." I had to get help as quickly as possible. That was Horinuma's only shot.

"We need a bunker." Kirigane smiled bitterly. "You were right, Fujimi. But we have to make do without."

"What about the other Genin?" Even with an opening into the forest, the odds that a bunch of kids in the Genin Corps would make it through were . . .

"It's die here or take a chance out there."

That spark of hope fizzled out. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. "You're talking like you're all going to die."

Kirigane snorted. "Why do you think I'm sending you out? Come on, use that head of yours."

A chill went through me. I realized I'd misunderstood. The dread twisted my stomach further into knots.

"I'm not going to get reinforcements," I said, eyes widening. "I'm an advance warning."

"Correct!" Kirigane ruffled my hair. "They hit us here, so they might hit somewhere else. Gotta warn everyone, right?"

I clutched the hem of my kimono. I wanted to protest, but no sound came out. I looked down, trying not to cry.

Kirigane lifted my chin with one finger and said, gazing deep into my eyes with her crystal-clear ones.

"Those are your orders, Fujimi. _Run_."

Explosions sounded off in the distance.

"They're going for the fortifications!" Somebody yelled.

"Alright," Kirigane straightened up and stretched her arms up high. She rolled her shoulders, cracking the joints, and grinned down at me. "Ready to go? Lucky you, Fujimi. You get to do an A-rank! See what a good sensei I am. Already getting you good missions."

That's not what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to tell me it'd be alright, that they'd live through this, that they could take on anything – but just like my father when he'd left on that mission, she wouldn't make promises she might not keep. I thought this was a cruel kind of kindness, to not at least give me some hope to keep me going.

Kirigane and the shinobi that would be making an exit for us clustered at the north end, where the fortifications were only half-built.

Kirigane raised three fingers high in the air, facing the outside with her back to us. She lowered one finger. A Chuunin crept up to the fortifications and rigged a few paper bombs. He retreated, unspooling a long wire after him.

Kirigane shouldered her weapon and lowered a second finger.

Someone motioned to us to cover our ears. It was dead quiet.

She lowered the final one.

The blast went off, blowing tree trunks and stones outside the base. Kirigane yelled, "CHARGE!" and took off swinging. Someone tapped my back, hard, and I saw Tetsu next to me. He grabbed my wrist.

As I was told, I ran, ignoring the carnage around me. Our forces moved on ahead and made a makeshift corridor for us to run through. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone go down. Screams, clashing metal, sparks and boots hitting the ground – a kunai came my way and Tetsu jerked me out of its path.

We were almost clear of the battle, all twenty or so of us, when leaves rustled and further Iwa forces emerged from the trees.

A Konoha jounin was in front of us in an instant. A flurry of handsigns and his palms hit the ground, hard. A huge mud wall erupted and cut off the attackers.

"SCATTER!" he yelled.

Like rats we took off in all different directions. I headed right, with Tetsu next to me holding onto my wrist with a death grip. We ran into the forest.

"Which way do you need to go?" He asked.

"Huh?"

"The outpost!" He snapped. "Which way?"

I had to think about it. "It's . . . north-east. That way, towards that mountain." I gestured vaguely.

He nodded. We ran a few more minutes, and my heartbeat had started to slow when a shuriken landed in the tree next to me with a hollow _thunk_.

"Get down!" Tetsu pushed my head down. I felt more shuriken flying over my head. My foot caught in a root and I went sprawling through the underbrush. My stomach dropped as I kept falling, hit a slight hill and rolled down, my clothes and hair catching in sticks and vegetation. I came to a stop a few seconds later, my head spinning. I got up as soon as I could, but had trouble standing straight. I looked up, though everything was blurry and seemed to be wavering from side to side, and saw Tetsu up on top of the hill, tearing Shuriken out of his back. His white shirt was stained red.

"Tetsu!" I called. "Are you okay?"

He turned around and glared. The veins around his eyes bulged, making him look angrier than ever.

"What are you doing, stupid? Go!"

"But . . ."

"Get to the outpost! That's your mission, right? So hurry it up!"

Another volley of shuriken came flying at him. He parried half with a kunai and slipped into a stance.

"Useless, failure, second-rate . . ." He muttered under his breath and gritted his teeth. His fingers dug into the cloth around his forehead. "I'll show them all who's a failure!"

"Tetsu, wait!" I yelled, but he charged forward and I was too far away to stop him.

I had to go. If I stayed, I'd be killed, and then there would be no one to warn the others. I had to leave him behind. I didn't have a choice. There was nothing I could do.

Bitterly, I turned around and dashed into the woods. Behind me the battle had started in earnest, but I focused on running and tried to keep my tears from falling. They still welled up, keeping me from seeing the terrain in front of me, and for the second time I tripped and fell. I sniffled, trying to push myself back up.

Then I noticed that everything around me had gone quiet.

I froze. Strained my ears. The sounds of the battle were faint. There were no sounds of birds crying or leaves rustling, but there, almost imperceptible, a stick cracked. A bush crinkled. I felt it – something like a presence, invisible but slowly bearing down on me. Someone was coming. It was too big to be Tetsu.

I sunk down to the ground and slapped my hand over my nose and mouth. Like Kirigane had shown me. I stayed as still as I can. And with the desperation of knowing more clearly than ever before what would happen if I was found, I pushed my chakra down further than I ever had. The presence moved closer – closer and closer – until it was right next to me. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. I lay in the underbrush, completely numb, and more terrified than I'd ever been.

Seconds trickled by. One, two, three . . . like time had slowed to a crawl. I was aware of everything. The ants marching by on the forest floor; the rocks digging into my thigh; the sandal a foot away from my head, glimpsed through small leaves and twigs – a drop of rainwater fell from the canopy and landed on the back of my neck. I twitched.

The sandal moved towards me.

Ice crawled in my veins.

And away.

The presence disappeared.

I wasn't sure how long I stayed there, immobile in the underbrush. Eventually I heard a bird sing and slowly pushed myself up. I was covered in mud and chilled to the bone. My knees were scrapped.

I remembered what I'd been told.

' _Run.'_

I had to go.

Caught in a daze, I began to run. Through the forest, putting more and more distance between me and the base, until I hit the foothills of a mountain. I turned left, towards the north.

Day and night passed. I kept on running. On and on, I kept up the pace as if possessed, my legs moving on their own, single-mindedly covering as much ground as I possibly could. I didn't stop for food or water. When I hit the marshy patch, instead of going around, I cut directly through.

Night came again. I waded through water that came up to my thighs, still and reflecting the stars. Fireflies lit up the darkness, but there was no moon and I could barely see. I moved slowly forward with my eyes fixed on the stars so I wouldn't lose my way and hands held out in front of me, feeling at the surface of the water. Things slithered past me in the dark. I touched slimy, soft, mushy, hard, sharp things without knowing what any of it was. It was a nightmare.

When I managed to get up onto dry land, around dawn, there were black slug-like creatures all over my legs. I was covered in grime. I ripped them off, one by one, and kept running with blood streaming down my legs.

I hit the river around midday. I couldn't tell if it was the day after the attack, or the next one after that, or the next after that. Everything blurred together. I could barely feel the ground under my feet – like I was floating.

I kept on running.

When I finally came across a Konoha patrol, I said,

"Horinuma. Attack. Iwa."

And collapsed, dead to the world.

* * *

AN/

I had this whole chunk in here with Kirigane's backstory, but I had to cut it out or this chapter would've been all over the place. Kirigane talks _a lot_.

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	19. In Which Ukiyo is Dead

_Report by Yamanaka Inoko, Team Yamanaka, Fourth Patrol Squad_

 _Horinuma Base, Kusagakure_

 _November 29, year ***_

 _Horinuma Base investigation following signs of fire sighted during routine border patrol. Preliminary report. Detailed missive to follow._

 _Horinuma base destroyed. Forty-three bodies recovered, identification to follow. No survivors at the scene. Signs of battle in the base and branching out to the woods. Requesting backup and search-and-rescue teams._

 _Preliminary status conclusion:_

 _Horinuma base – annihilated_

* * *

The attack on Horinuma Base would eventually become known as the battle that rang the war gong. Up until then, we'd been hostile with Iwagakure, but no outright fighting had occurred. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time, but when the time came we were still caught off guard.

Iwa's assault on the outposts in Kusa was swift and cut deep. In the days following the Horinuma incident, they attacked several other new bases along the border, including the one I'd run to, Taniyama. My warning gave them enough time to evacuate, so there were no casualties, but we lost ground all the same. Maybe they should have tried to fight, maybe they could've won, but none of the new outposts were meant as strongholds. They were surveillance outposts, and half-constructed at that. It seems like each captain that had the advantage of foresight came to the same conclusion: it was better to retreat and regroup than risk becoming another Horinuma.

All the newly formed bases were destroyed before Konoha could mount a counter-attack. Caught unprepared, we were driven out of Kusa altogether. Iwa benefited greatly from taking the initiative. They might've also benefited from a more advanced surveillance network in the region than we had – how else would they have known were the new bases were?

As for me, I retreated with the Taniyama forces. There was little time to rest. I stumbled in the forest, bleary-eyes, barely able to focus on where I was going. I kept my gaze on the blurry back of the Genin in front of me, and marched. All the while, I thought about Horinuma.

The man, bleeding out on the ground, and the feeling of a knife running through flesh and grating against bone. Tetsu, prideful, rushing into a battle he couldn't win to protect a sliver of his pride. Kirigane, facing down death armed with a butcher's knife and a maniacal smile.

As I marched, I tried to make sense of it all. All those images rotated round and round in my head, so that as soon as I got away from one, another popped up to take its place. It was like playing a game of trauma whack-a-mole, only someone had snapped the mallet in half.

We arrived at the village after a few days of travel. I followed blindly until a hand came down on my shoulder. I stared up dumbly into the face of a Chuunin guard.

"Fujimi-san, report directly to the Hokage," he said. "On the double."

I nodded, and though tired as I was, I pulled myself together and broke away from the group to climb up a building and take the sky-road to the Hokage tower. I ran and jumped along familiar roofs and streets and dropped into the alleyway that was my own shortcut across the merchant district. Everything was exactly the same as when I'd left. Children's cries came from the park, the market bustled with shoppers, and wind blew through bright green leaves still untouched by autumn.

I arrived at the tower and made my way up the spiraling staircase. I knocked on the door to the Hokage's office.

"Enter."

I went in, shut the door behind me, and bowed. My uneven hair cascaded down my right shoulder.

"Fujimi Ukiyo, reporting, sir."

The Hokage looked up from his papers. "Ukiyo-kun. I'm glad to see you unharmed. Please tell me what happened at Horinuma."

The Hokage listened quietly as I gave my report. As I told him the details, how I killed an enemy, how I left Tetsu behind, how I ran as fast as I could, it was like everything flowed out of me to hang like fog in the air.

"I see. Good work, Ukiyo-kun. You did your village proud."

With those simple words, it felt like a great weight had been lifted off me.

"But sir," I said, and bit my lip. "I left them all behind. I could have stayed and fought. Even Tetsu . . . I should've helped him. Like he helped me."

"Hum . . ." The Hokage leaned back and took up his pipe, though he didn't put it in his mouth. He appeared to consider the issue. "An age-old problem for us shinobi, and one I believe your father and Sakumo had to face." My heart skipped a beat. "Should comrades be sacrificed for the sake of the mission, or should their lives hold priority? A look at your face, Ukiyo-kun, tells me where you stand on this issue."

My mouth twisted.

"Ask yourself this, young one. Was there anything more you could have done for your comrades? Would your presence have made a difference? Or were _all_ your comrades, not just the ones at Horinuma, better served by you doing what your captain had said, which was run away as fast as you could?"

"I . . ." I knew the truth and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. "I don't think there was anything I could've done. I'm not good at fighting. That's why I'm in the Genin Corps."

"Yes, that was the main line of reasoning your sensei used to fail you."

"But still, I wish I wasn't!" I said strongly, surprising myself. "I want to be stronger. I wanted to do something more than run away!"

"And yet, you could not." He said it neutrally, but it still stung. The Hokage closed his eyes for a moment. "If you truly wish to become stronger, then I have no doubt you will find a way. But remember this, Ukiyo-kun,"

When he opened his eyes again, they were kind. "You are not held responsible for the orders of your superiors. You are a Genin. Your role is following the orders you are given from your Chuunin and Jounin superiors, who hold responsibility for leading teams. In that, your conduct was without reproach – though I do admit you performed above what could reasonably be demanded of you. An A-rank mission is more than any Genin would be expected to handle, and yet you completed yours flawlessly. For that, I can only commend you.

"Hold your head high, Ukiyo-kun. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

* * *

I walked out of the Hokage's office still somewhat dazed but feeling better. Lighter. And with the singular thought in my mind – that I had to try harder. I had to get stronger. Someway, somehow.

My feet took me to the hospital. I didn't know what I was expecting. There was impossible hope in the back of my mind, so I went anyway.

Because of the recent fighting in Kusa, the hospital was busy. I crossed the packed waiting room and drew the receptionist's attention.

"I'm looking for some people. Hyuuga Tetsu and Kawada Kirigane. Could you tell me if they're in?"

The receptionist ruffled through some papers and gave me an absent-minded answer.

Ten seconds of dumb, silent shock later and I was running. As fast as when I'd been running through the wilderness or even faster still, nearly colliding straight on with nurses and doctors; someone yelled at me to slow down, this was a hospital, no running in the hallways! Oh, darn ninja . . .

I jumped up the wall instead of the stairs, landed in the corridor, ran some more, arrived at the room, and banged the door open.

Kirigane turned to me, eyes shining, and grinned.

"Hey there, shrimp. What took'ya so long?"

I felt like my legs were about to go out from under me – like I was a newborn Bambi, stumbling around the forest on stilts. I caught myself on the doorframe. Kirigane sat up in her bed.

"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost!" She laughed out loud at her own joke. "Hear that? A ghost! I'll bet you didn't expect me to still be kicking, huh? Well, I'm tougher than I look. I survived the Second Great Ninja War. Did I ever tell you about that? No? I didn't think so. We should go out for drinks, you know, to celebrate the fact that we're still alive. I'll tell you all about it."

"I . . ." I swallowed. "I can't drink. I'm underage."

"You can have juice, then. You like juice, right?"

". . . Yeah. I like juice."

I actually didn't. Not really.

She looked at me critically. "Hey now, buck up Fujimi. It's war, don't you know? We've got work to do. Soon as I'm out of here, we're back on the road. Outposts aren't going to manage themselves. Also, I've got a _ton_ of tricks I wanna teach you for the Chuunin exams."

"Chuu . . .nin exams?" I blinked at her in confusion.

"Yes, silly. The exams. Too late to register for this winter, but next summer is doable."

"But . . . I'm . . ." I was at loss for words. "I couldn't fight . . . I just ran . . ."

Kirigane waved me off. "You completed an A-rank. In my book, that's more than enough to prove you've got the stuff."

"But I don't have a Jounin to recommend me."

"I'll take care of that."

"How?" I choked.

"I know people." She reached out and ruffled my hair. My stupid, uneven hair. "Let sensei take care of all the boring stuff. All you have to do is train. Since I'm stuck in here and the damn doctor won't _let me go home_ ," she raised her voice and shot a glare through the open door at a nurse passing by. "I've been coming up with a training plan for you."

I was so grateful I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I was going to get stronger.

I was going to do everything in my power to make sure I never had to look back and wonder if I did the right thing.

* * *

After leaving Kirigane, I visited Tetsu. He was grumpy and snappish at first, but I still stayed for a bit and cut up one of the apples sitting in the basket by his bedside into bunny shapes. He whined some more but ate them all the same, teeth snapping together and grounding the bunnies to bits.

He stared into his third slice. His shoulders dropped as he exhaled slowly.

"Do you think either of us can make Chuunin?" he asked. His hand went to his forehead, bandaged even though it hadn't been hurt in the battle.

"I'm going to," I said, taking a piece of my own. "And if I can do it, well, no reason you can't either."

He looked at me for a moment, thinking.

"Your taijutsu is abysmal."

"True."

"You're not all _that_ smart," he said, almost vindictively.

I gave him a look. "Wasn't I first in the Academy rankings for our year?"

"Only on the written tests!"

"I still beat _you_."

He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"Point is, if there's anybody with a lower chance of making Chuunin than you, I'll eat my shoes." He then smiled, not smirked or grinned, smiled, and that might've been the first time I'd seen him do it. "I know I can make it. No matter what those stupid clan elders say."

"Good for you," I said. I was a little confused, but I got the spirit. I kind of wished he'd stop insulting me, but he was just a kid with a lot of issues so I could let it slide. "Also, I wanted to say thank you."

He frowned at me. "For what?"

"For helping me run away. I'm not sure I would've made it on my own."

Tetsu rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

We finished the apples. I waved as I left, thinking that the kid would be alright. I owed him two favors, one for helping me, and one for not dying. I wasn't sure exactly how I would've felt if he hadn't made it home, but most likely not even the Hokage would have the words to lift that burden off my chest.

* * *

As I was leaving the hospital, I had the delightful pleasure of running into Rin.

Or more like I saw her, waved hello, then _stared_ as her mouth fell open and she dropped the gigantic pile of paperwork she'd been carrying. It made a bright white blizzard as it scattered all over the floor. Rin stood there, hands still out in front of her, eyes like saucers.

"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost," I said, snickering internally. Kirigane was right, it _was_ funny.

It was funny right up until big fat tears welled up in Rin's eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry!" I squeaked on reflex. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll help you pick them up, it's fine!"

I scrambled to gather up the paperwork, which much represent _hours_ of work, and get it back up in the right order (because paperwork had to be in the right order or else there was no meaning left in our cruel universe), but I quickly realized that it was about as probable as me flying off into the sunset on a UFO.

"Oh dear, oooh dear . . ." I held my face in my hands, aghast, looking over the sea of white. The floor wasn't even visible anymore. "Rin, I'm _so_ sorry, oh this is such a mess, I'll help you fix it I promise . . ."

While I was fretting, Rin dropped to her knees in front of me. I only noticed when her arms circled tight around me.

"Ukiyo-chan . . ." she sniffed.

"Yes?"

"Ukiyo-chan . . ."

"What?"

She was crying too hard to make any sense. I patted her back. I'd be crying too, if I'd dropped that much paperwork. Just thinking about it made my misty-eyed.

"Hey, Rin, are you off work ye . . . .eeeet?"

Obito came around the corner and stopped in his tracks. His voice did a weird thing, like a rubber ducky was stuck in his throat. He pointed at me and shouted incoherently.

At this point, I had a sobbing girl in my arms, a sea of scrambled paperwork, a screaming boy flapping his arm like a one-winged chicken, and I was at loss at to which I should deal with first.

Rin finally stopped crying. I supported her as she got to her feet. She wiped her tears, gave me a weak smile, then turned to Obito who was still screaming his head off and was starting to attract unwelcome attention. She hit him lightly on the back of the head and his mouth snapped shut. He turned owlishly big eyes to her.

" _We have to tell everyone_ ," he said.

She nodded. "I have to clean up here so you go on ahead without me. Hurry, Obito!"

"I'm on it!"

Obito grabbed my hand and pulled me with him, out of the hospital and further and further away from any sense of understanding or logic. I let him drag me down the street, into the merchants' district, and in front of the tea house. He pulled me in.

Kurenai, Asuma, and Raidou were enjoying a snack when Obito pulled me in front of them, stood me in full view and gestured wildly with both arms. Asuma dropped his stick of dango.

"See? _See_!?" Obito gesticulated.

Kurenai slapped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes grew shiny, and I was wondering if I was about to get a repeat of Rin's incident, only minus the paperwork, when Obito dragged me back out the door.

"Obito, where on earth are we going?!"

"No time! See people first, explain later!"

And that's how we ended up running to all different corners of Konoha, searching for people from my graduating class for Obito to lose his mind at while I stood there cloaked in awkward confusion. Reactions were more or less the same across the board – dropped jaws, wide eyes, a tear here and there . . . Genma gave me an approving, though slightly condescending, pat on the shoulder and a lazy grin which, while appreciated for what they were, left me feeling like I was being congratulated for something I really didn't think I wanted to be congratulated for.

The pieces fell into place when we got to Gai. Obito was not fast enough to drag me away to see the next person because Gai, being Gai, did what Gai does. Which is grab me in a crushing hug that lifted me off the ground and expelled all the air from my lungs.

"Ukiyo-chan, you're alive! I knew it! I knew your youthful spirit wouldn't be taken down so easily!" He yelled, swinging me round and round like a doll.

Wait. Did he say 'alive?'

"Oy, Gai! Let her go, we got other people to see!" Obito stomped his foot.

Gai let me down and I caught my breath. "You thought I was dead? Why on earth?!" I gasped.

Gai's grin slid off. "We heard about the report on Horinuma. It said the base was completely destroyed."

"But Kirigane . . ." I protested. "The captain, she's in the hospital. There were survivors."

"Well, yeah, but," Obito averted his eyes and kicked at a pebble. "Rin checked. You weren't admitted with the rest. So . . . I mean, the only thing that _could_ mean was . . ."

"That you, Ukiyo-chan, had fallen prey to those dastardly Iwa ninja and died bravely fighting for the village," Gai finished. His eyes glistened and he wiped them with the back of his hand. He hiccupped.

"Oh."

Everyone's reactions made a lot more sense now. A whole lot of horrible, tragic sense.

"Does everyone think that?" I asked.

Obito made a face. "Word got around pretty quick."

"What about Kakashi?"

Obito's eyes darkened. He crossed his arms tightly. "I haven't seen that jerk since I gave him the news. You know what he said? 'This is war. Of course people die.' And that's it! Even _Asuma_ looked sad, and he never looks like _any_ th . . ."

"I have to go see him," I blurted out, cutting him off. "Do you know where he is?"

"Uh . . ."

"Never mind, I'll find him!" I ran off and yelled over my shoulder, "Thanks, Obito! I'll buy you lunch sometime!"

Obito had tried very hard to make sure everyone knew I was alive and well. I couldn't thank him enough for that. Now I had to make sure Kakashi knew. He was the very last person on this planet I wanted to think I'd died.

* * *

The day Kakashi found out Ukiyo had died, he went to Training Ground Three and didn't leave until six o'clock the next morning. He trained and trained and trained, practicing katas, kunai throwing, every jutsu he knew (which was turning out to be quick a few), and shadow-sparred for hours until he was completely out of chakra. He moved with focused intensity, hell-bent on exhausting every last bit of physical energy he had.

Then he went home, to his little apartment near the park, and failed at falling asleep.

He could have blamed the light coming in through the shutters – the neighbors chattering downstairs – the building creaking as water flowed through old pipes – or the fact that his endurance was stellar and he _still_ wasn't the least bit tired.

Kakashi just couldn't fall asleep. So he stared at the ceiling for a few hours. He wasn't thinking about anything, and certainly not about a girl who'd been a part of his life and then hadn't been anymore.

He'd wondered sometimes, in passing during missions or training during the years after the disaster that had been their last conversation, how she was doing. How she was getting along with the Nara clan. How her classes were going. Only in passing, though. He had to focus on his missions. On his training.

When he'd been introduced to his new team, Rin and Obito, he'd thought in the back of his mind that she must have graduated too. It never occurred to him that she could have failed. Now he started to wonder what her new team was like; how she was doing with her missions; if she was getting stronger. He felt very certain that she must be. It was Ukiyo, after all. She'd be fine.

Only she wasn't.

She'd been shafted into the Genin Corps. When he found out, on the day of her deployment no less, he could only stare at her because it made no sense at all. She was smart. She had excellent chakra control. She was strong-willed. She was, well, _Ukiyo_.

Ukiyo was . . .

Kakashi got out of bed and went back to the training grounds.

After a few more hours of training, he felt Minato's presence pop up on the edge of the field. Minato walked over to where he was punching a log, blond hair swaying in the breeze.

"Hey there, Kakashi. What are you working on?"

"Taijutsu," Kakashi grunted.

"How about a spar?"

Kakashi rolled his shoulders back, cracking his spine. "Alright."

He quickly took his stance. Minato shook out his limbs and smiled tightly. Rin had come to him yesterday and whispered a few worried words into his ear, and Minato was concerned to see they were warranted. Kakashi looked _awful_. He'd never seen his student look this drained.

Minato tipped his head. "After you."

Kakashi sprang into motion. He curved behind his teacher, jumped, and kicked towards his head. Minato whirled around and blocked with his forearm. Kakashi threw a kunai, Minato dodged by a hair, and as soon as Kakashi was back on the ground they sprang into a series of blows almost faster than the eye could see. Minato waited, mostly blocking, until he spotted an opening and swiped Kakashi's legs from under him.

Kakashi should have been able to backflip and avoid ending up flat on his back. Instead he lost his balance and tipped backwards, falling heavily and nearly hitting his head on the ground. He blinked, staring blankly up at the sky. Minato leaned over him.

"It's unlike you to lose focus, Kakashi. What's the matter?"

Kakashi's eyes snapped to his teacher. He pushed himself up, throwing a punch that Minato narrowly avoided, and drew a kunai before attacking once more.

Minato sensed something was wrong. Kakashi's attacks were unusually vicious, and unusually clumsy – each blow had too much strength behind it; his kunai handling was inefficient, swinging too wide; each strike lacked in any kind of rationale or strategy. Kakashi narrowed his eyes, irritated, and continued lashing out. He kicked up dirt when his kicks missed their mark, fell to the ground when his aerial maneuvers failed, nearly went flying when a punch carried his small body too far. Sweat rolled down his back, his temples, plastered his hair to his face.

Minato didn't attempt to fight him. He fell back to dodging and blocking as needed.

Eventually, Kakashi ran out of steam. He fell to one knee, breathing hard. He glared at the ground, fist tightening, nails digging grooves into the hard dirt.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Minato said. "Is this about Fujimi Ukiyo?"

Kakashi glared venomously, kicked off and charged at him with a yell. Minato only had to take one step to the side. Kakashi went sprawling to the ground. It took him time to get up. His legs were shaking from exhaustion.

Minato observed him critically, though not unkindly. He was well aware of Kakashi's past. These days, people had mostly stopped talking about Hatake Sakumo and his team. Sakumo had become a virtual hermit, Fujimi Yomaru was dead, and the two others who were back in the rosters refused to speak a word of it.

The big consequence of that mission was the war, but there was a smaller one too – a more human one, in a little girl who'd lost her father. Fujimi Ukiyo had been forgotten in a scarce few months, despite the story spreading through the ranks like wildfire at the time. It was all Sakumo's fault, they'd said – by his failure, he'd brought on war, disgrace, and as good as killed his friend. Little sympathy was wasted on the daughter Yomaru left behind, the energy instead fueled into further resentment against Sakumo.

Kakashi was the same. He blamed his father for the mission, the war, everything.

Minato wasn't sure what he really thought about Ukiyo. Minato had never had the occasion to meet her, though he'd heard in passing that she was an unusually bright child, even besting Kakashi in academics. He knew she'd been his friend, and friends with Rin and Obito while they were in the Academy, but Kakashi himself had never once mentioned her.

And now she was dead.

"Do you blame your father for Ukiyo's death?" Minato asked.

Kakashi froze on the ground.

"Of _course_ it's his fault," he hissed.

"How so?"

Kakashi didn't respond. Minato sighed.

"Ukiyo's death was tragic, but it had nothing to do with your father. You know that don't you? It wasn't his fault."

"Then whose fault is it?" Kakashi yelled. He staggered to his feet and turned to face his teacher. "If dad hadn't failed that mission, we wouldn't be at war. Then Ukiyo wouldn't have gone out there, and she wouldn't have died."

Minato shook his head.

Kakashi lunged at him again and this time Minato caught his fist. He looked down at his student, the deep bags under his red-rimmed eyes, his clenched jaw and his shaking hands.

"Kakashi. It's okay to be upset when you lose a friend."

"She wasn't my friend," Kakashi retorted.

"What was she then?"

Kakashi struggled for an answer.

"I owed her," he finally said, quietly, through gritted teeth.

"She saved your father." Minato had heard the story from the Hokage, then from Sakumo himself soon after he'd taken Kakashi under his wing.

"She was an idiot."

"She cared about you."

"I never asked her to!"

"Friends don't need to be asked."

"She shouldn't have bothered! It's _his_ fault her father died! Why didn't dad just let him die on the mission? Why didn't he just follow the rules? Why did Ukiyo have to die because of a stupid war _he_ started? _It's. All. His. Fault!_ "

Kakashi punched with his other arm. Minato took the blows.

"It's his fault, and I owed her, and now she's dead! It doesn't make any sense! Why did she have to die? She was _stupidly_ smart! What was she even _doing_ in the Genin Corps? What kind of brain-dead idiot failed her?"

Kakashi kept punching, though his hits were weak. Minato stoically took every single one.

"None of this makes any sense," Kakashi said, fist hitting one last time and trailing down to his side. "Nothing about her ever did. And now she's _dead_. And I . . ." He hesitated. He was so tired he couldn't think straight, so he uttered the next words in a deadpan rush. "I made her cry. The last time we really spoke, I made her cry. I said stuff and I meant it and I thought she'd understand but she _didn't_ because she never makes any sense and I didn't _want_ to apologize so I just stopped talking to her . . . and then before she left she said it was fine, that I should just forget it, but now she's _dead_ and it's like she _knew_ . . ."

"Kakashi, listen to me." Minato gently lowered the hand still holding onto Kakashi's fist and put the other one on his shoulder. "Her death wasn't your father's fault, and it wasn't yours either. It's unfortunate, but there will always be death in our world. You will carry regrets wherever you go – things you wished you said, or actions you wished you took differently. There's no shame in being upset over losing someone, and there's no such thing as living without regret. It's a part of life.

"All you can do is try to figure out what's truly important to you. You always talk about how obeying the rules is the most important part of being a shinobi. I understand why you hold the rules in such high regard – it's a value system and a set of guidelines that spell out exactly what needs to be done and when to guarantee the best possible outcome for the village. The only thing I can tell you, Kakashi, is that the best outcome is _never_ guaranteed. You can follow all the rules in the book and still end up failing a mission, or seeing a comrade die, or losing something precious. But then again, violating the rules might _also_ lead to regret. You have to find which way will lead to a path where you can say you did the best you could with what you had.

"No one is to blame for Ukiyo's death but the Iwa ninja who attacked her outpost. Not your father, and not you."

Kakashi went silent. Minato patted him on the head. "Go home, Kakashi. Get some sleep. You'll feel better."

* * *

A few days later, and Kakashi did not feel any better. Minato had sent him home from training for today. Kakashi had been performing abysmally during their teamwork training and today was no better. He'd almost gutted Obito like a fish, which Kakashi thought was more a product of Obito dragging his feet than any mistake on his part, but Minato-sensei didn't see it that way. So Kakashi went home and idly played with a kunai, staring at the wall and trying not to think.

There was a knock on his door. He ignored it.

The knocking turned to banging, and it felt like the sound was splitting his head in half.

"Kakashi!"

A familiar voice called his name. He curled inwards and covered his ears.

"Kakashi, it's me! Ukiyo!"

A sharp pang went through his chest. He stood up and slowly walked to the door.

He turned the doorknob.

"Kakashi!"

Ukiyo smiled at him, cheeks pink and out of breath.

He'd never realized just how much he missed that smile.

* * *

AN/

So many of you thought Kirigane was actually dead. I can't think of what I might've done to lead you to believe I'd heartlessly kill off an important supporting character - they say, side-eyeing chapter 10

Nah, but seriously, I never intended to have her die. She's too much fun to write.

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Peace out.


	20. In Which Ukiyo Eats a Popsicle

I'd run all around town trying to find Kakashi. He wasn't at the house, but Sakumo had been there and he'd told me where his new apartment was. I didn't have time to yell at him about how it was wildly inappropriate for a nine-year-old to be living on his own, because I was a woman on a mission, dammit, and I would just have to make time to berate absent authority figures and depressed men guilty of neglectful parenting _after_ I'd tracked down the poor kid. So I shot off like a crazy person, and never mind that this was the first time I'd talked to Sakumo in years and I was, sort of, technically, still furious at the man.

I got lost a few times on my way there, but eventually after a lot of asking around I located the correct apartment building, which was the kind built up _en masse_ ten-ish years ago when Konoha saw its post-war population boom. I shot up the metal staircase, and banged on the door. I fully admit I hadn't thought of a plan of action, and it occurred to me when the door opened that maybe that would've been a good idea.

Kakashi was unreadable at the best of times, but the lack of emotion on the visible half of his face was somewhat concerning. He literally looked like a statue.

"Hey there. Sorry to barge in. I just got back. So . . ." I shuffled from side to side, and laughed awkwardly. "I think . . . there was a misunderstanding?"

Kakashi stared.

I fidgeted with my sleeves.

"I'm not dead. I think . . . you were told I was?"

Kakashi stared.

I started to wonder if I'd been mistaken. He wasn't saying anything. He looked like a fish a few days out of the ocean. "Sorry if I misunderstood, but Obito said . . ."

Kakashi's fist came down in the doorframe so hard the building rattled. Dust rained down. These things hadn't been very soundly built to begin with – I promptly filed 'urban renewal plan' in my mental folder of things to get done once I worked in the administration, right alongside 'child protective services.'

"I'm going to _kill_ him," Kakashi said venomously.

"Who? Obito? Oh, please don't, it's not his fault. There was stuff going on at the hospital, with the attacks and all . . ."

But Kakashi wasn't listening to me. He was putting his shoes on. He grabbed his scarf off the hook and stomped out the door. I moved in front of him, hands out, and gently pushed him back. He was seething and his glare turned to me.

"And _you_."

"Me?" I squeaked.

"You _idiot_. You stupid idiot. How did you almost get yourself killed? What were you _thinking_?"

Oh great, now his anger was directed at me. It felt rather unfair. "I wasn't _thinking_ anything . . ."

"Clearly."

"My mission went sour . . ."

"Obviously."

I stomped on his foot as hard as I could and cried, "Will you let me talk!"

He winced and hopped away. "What the hell?!" he yelled.

"I'm trying to explain! Stop interrupting!"

"What's there to explain? You messed up and almost got killed!"

"Hey, that's not fair! I didn't mess up! I did the best I could and followed orders and got out alive, so I don't need you calling me stupid for something I didn't do!"

My cheeks heated up as my anger mounted. This wasn't what I'd had in mind when I came to see him. He didn't even look happy to see I was alive.

"Did you even care I was dead?" I asked, even though I knew it wasn't a fair question.

He didn't answer, only looked away.

"Fine," I snapped. "Whatever. I'm going home."

I was still covered in assorted grime, dirt, and blood from my mission. Half my hair was chopped off and I'd never gotten around to fixing it. My clothes were stiff from dried sweat and filth. I smelled like a dead frog that had been left to macerate for a whole lunar cycle in a stagnant pond and felt like one too. I wanted to take a scalding hot bath and sleep for the next hundred years, not waste my time getting yelled at by a boy who didn't care and never would.

The thought stung. I knew it wasn't really true, probably, but all of a sudden I was just so _tired_. I didn't want to yell and argue with Kakashi. I couldn't deal with this right now.

I was tired. So tired.

Before he could stop me, I turned around and ran.

* * *

At the Nara house, Sumire was there to greet me. She engulfed me in a tight hug as soon as I stepped through the doorway, not minding how dirty I was. She stroked my hair.

"The bath is ready. When you're done come have dinner with us."

I spent over an hour cleaning myself. I vigorously scrubbed at my skin under the shower until it was red and shiny. It took several rounds of shampooing before all the twigs and leaves and pond gunk was gone from my hair. I rinsed until the water ran clear, then lowered myself into the steaming water of the bathtub. I hugged my knees to my chest, sinking in up to my chin. It smelled like wisteria blossoms and lavender. I inhaled and exhaled, deeply. Steam rose off the surface and made the air hazy.

I remembered the cold in the forest as I ran, the water of the swamp I waded through, how my legs went numb but I could still just barely feel the slimy things slithering past and clinging to my skin. I remembered how soaked and miserable I'd been, how I was frozen to the bone by the time I arrived at the camp, and shivered.

I curled into myself and dunked my head underwater.

The stupid thing was that I knew how to walk on water. Exhausted and scared and desperate as I'd been, it hadn't even occurred to me. I'd been so scared I'd thought of nothing but Kirigane's order – _run_.

When my lungs started to burn I resurfaced and gasped for air.

* * *

I changed into the clean undershirt and yukata that had been laid out for me. It was a pretty thing, in a checkboard pattern of violet and light gray with my clan symbol on the back. I went to the dining room where dinner had been set for three. Sumire waited with Shikaku by the open windows looking out into the garden. She looked up and smiled when I came in.

"Ukiyo-chan, dear, come here and let me fix your hair."

I sat down on the veranda. She put a cloth around my shoulders and got to work, softly continuing her discussion with Shikaku about the state of their lands and the medicine reserves. She had to completely cut off my remaining braid to make it even. I watched bits of white flutter down. A sharp pang went through my chest. I loved my hair. It had taken so long to grow out. My mom used to brush it for me.

When she was done, my nape felt cold and my head felt light. Sumire put a violet clip to hold my bangs back. She patted my head and we took our seats.

Dinner was all my favorite things. We didn't talk much as we ate, though I stole glances at Shikaku every so often. I didn't see him very often. He was stupidly busy. I wondered how much trouble it had been for both of them to be here today.

I went to bed shortly after. I thought about Kakashi and wondered if he really didn't care, not even a little. The thoughts ran circles in my brain, mixing with those of the man I'd killed and flashes of the forest I'd run through, but I was so tired it didn't take long before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning, both Sumire and Shikaku were gone. I got dressed and ate breakfast by myself. I couldn't stop running my hands through my hair. I fiddled with the wisps tickling my neck.

I'd prepared myself for a day of doing nothing when the maid knocked on my door.

"Ukiyo-sama, someone's here to see you."

I thought it might be a friend of mine, but I was shocked when I was led into the east room, the one reserved for meeting guests, and saw a man I knew only by reputation sitting cross-legged on a cushion. I blinked a few times at Namikaze Minato, the man (or teenager, more like) rumored to be in the running to succeed the Third Hokage.

He didn't look the part. He was a kind (but a bit goofy) looking fellow with bright yellow hair that looked like it'd been blown about by a hurricane, and eyes as blue as the sky. He wasn't wearing his shinobi gear, but a plain dark blue shirt and black pants.

When his gaze fell on me his face broke out in a wide, good-natured grin. I half-hid behind the doorway, suddenly nervous.

"Hello there, Ukiyo-chan. Sorry to barge in like this. I'm Namikaze Minato."

"I know who you are," I said. It was a little rude, but I didn't know him and until I knew what he wanted I wasn't in the mood to play nice.

His smile didn't falter. "I was hoping to have a word with you. It's about Kakashi."

My eyes widened. Behind me, the maid came along with tea and snacks and I had to move inside the room to get out of the way. I took my seat in front of the man while she set everything up and then left us with a respectful bow. The snacks were the good kind. I focused my eyes on them.

There was silence.

Minato cleared his throat. "How are you doing? I heard about how the situation in Kusa turned sour. Was it bad?"

"It was."

"Yes . . . Well, Kakashi was rather upset over your . . ." He cleared his throat. "Death?"

I crossed my arms. "He didn't look upset yesterday."

Minato's eyes widened in surprise. "You talked to him?"

"Yes. That was the first thing I did after figuring out everyone thought I'd kicked the bucket." My mouth twisted. "He got angry and called me stupid, so I stepped on his foot and ran home."

Minato burst out laughing. My face turned red when I realized how childish I'd made myself sound. Scratch that, how childish I'd _acted_.

"I'm sorry for laughing, but I'm never even heard of him getting so . . . worked up. He sometimes snaps at his teammates, but he never gets angry. I know you're special to him."

"Special?" I snorted. "Yeah, you could call it that. He thinks I'm like him, but I'm not and he can't understand that."

"Like him? How so?"

I shrugged, and poked at a cookie. "I don't know. Smart, I guess."

Minato hummed, and brought his cup to his mouth. "Your Academy scores were very high. Higher than his, actually."

I shrugged again. "He was wrong. I've always told him so. I'm not smart like him. I'm kind of an idiot, actually. I couldn't even make it as a real Genin." That last bit was muttered under my breath, but with his shinobi hearing he should have caught it. Still, he politely pretended he hadn't and changed the subject.

"Well, putting all that aside, I did have a request, concerning Kakashi." Minato set his cup down and looked at me very seriously. "Could you spend time with him?"

I blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You're the only one who's ever even come close to being a friend to him. He doesn't get along with the others in your cohort, and though his teammates are there, he's often cold to them. Kakashi is a very bright boy, but I'm worried about him. I want him to relax a little, enjoy himself. He needs a friend."

Minato knew about our history. There was no way he didn't know. Considering that, it felt a little cruel of him to ask me this.

Cruel, but I couldn't say no. I'd be wracked with guilt if I did.

I may have lost more than he did, when we were tiny children, but I was an adult and I could handle grief. I could handle loss, and regret, and heartache – I'd dealt with them before and no doubt I would again. Kakashi was a little boy with no one who didn't know how to process what had happened to him, so he blamed everyone else for all he could and lost himself in the false safety provided by rules.

If he needed a friend, then I could try to be that for him. I still felt Minato was being unfair in asking a child to take on this task, but I wasn't really a child, was I?

Also, I was tired of running away. I was starting to regret pushing him away all those years ago, when the grief over my dad's death had been fresh and his words cut all the deeper for it. Maybe I should have been more understanding. Maybe yesterday when I'd gone to see him I should've tried harder. Maybe I should have been there for him.

Who says I couldn't start now? Up and at 'em, Ukiyo, no time like the present. No more wallowing, we say!

Best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. Second best is today.

"Kakashi _is_ my friend," I said boldly. "I like spending time with him. He's just being a brat right now."

Minato laughed again. "Then how about we do this? I received a request from Kirigane to take over your training for a little while. How about you join us tomorrow, at training ground three?"

I tilted my head, curious. "From Kirigane? You know her?"

Minato winced. "It would be hard not to. She's . . . well, you worked under her."

I nodded. Words were unnecessary to communicate the experience of 'knowing' Kirigane.

Minato continued. "She was also a good friend of my sensei, though I only saw her in person a handful of times." He made a face. "She's awfully . . . persuasive. Not that I needed much persuading, but she seemed to think I did."

Huh. I wondered what she'd threatened him with. If she was friends with his sensei, she must have some sort of dirt on him. I'd ask her later. And also, I'd have to thank her for this. It seemed like she was keen on wasting no time at all while she was in the hospital. Maybe I should bring her a fruit basket? Since alcohol was probably banned.

I grinned. "Okay, I'm free tomorrow! I'll try my best not to get in the way."

Minato's answering smile was relieved and grateful. A weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders. "Alright. Thank you, Ukiyo-chan."

* * *

Training ground three was set a little ways away from the center of the village, and was overall a rather peaceful looking place. There was a brook, a grassy field, a forest – it would have been downright _idyllic_ had there not been scorch marks and broken knives all over the place, but it wasn't a wild forest and it wasn't a war zone, so the adjective 'peaceful' was good enough for me.

Minato was already there, sitting on one of three posts and idly fiddling with a nasty-looking three-pronged kunai. Imagine if _that_ thing got stuck in you. Yeesh.

He waved as I came up.

Rin arrived next, and greeted me with delight. While we waited she told me about the medical jutsu she'd been working on and I told her a little about the work I did in the camp, and the missions I took as part of the Genin Corps. She told me about her own missions, mostly D-ranks like I'd been doing. It seemed the work of a Genin was much the same all around, the only difference being that the ones with teams got training and the possibility of advancement while the ones in the Corps did not.

"We're going to take the exam next summer," Rin said. "All three of us!"

"Even Kakashi? Didn't he already make Chuunin?"

"Kakashi's promotion was in the field," Minato jumped in. "He was very young at the time, so we thought it best that he take the actual exam with his team."

Sure. It had nothing to do with the rumors about Kakashi's steadfast refusal to be a team-player. We heard about those all the time in the Genin Corps, because bored kids and teenagers doing menial chores for a living _loved_ to gossip until the cows came home.

Speak of the devil, Kakashi arrived, took one look at us – at _me_ , and turned right back around.

I was about to go after him when I heard an odd _pop_. Minato suddenly appeared by his side, in the blink of an eye. I rapidly looked between the post where he'd been sitting and where he now was, whispering something to Kakashi. I hadn't seen him move. At all.

Rin grinned. "Minato-sensei's the fastest shinobi in Konoha!"

I couldn't think of how he could've done that aside from teleportation, and I mean _literal_ teleportation, not the thing they _called_ the 'teleportation jutsu' which wasn't _actually_ teleportation as much as it was moving really _really_ fast with some sleight of hand trick to make it _look_ like actual teleportation, but what Minato had done hadn't been that so it had to be teleportation. That, or he was just really good at the teleportation jutsu, but that usually make a sound like _whoosh_ , not _pop_ , and also wind . . .

"Oh," I blinked and clapped my hands together as Kakashi and Minato made their way back to us, Kakashi looking like he'd swallowed a lime. "Displaced air." I stared up in wonder at Minato. "You really did teleport!"

He gave me an interested look. "How do you figure?"

"When you vanished, you left a vacuum behind – the air rushed back in, and _pop_! Makes a funny sound. I was too far away to hear when you reappeared, but I'm guessing a soft _boom_? Since you'd be displacing the air."

"Correct!" Minato held up that vicious-looking kunai, dangling it from one finger. "See the pattern? It works as a guide for my space-time ninjutsu, Hiraishin. I can teleport to any location with the seal on it. Of course, I also have seals placed on my darling students, not just my kunai."

Teleportation. _Actual_ teleportation. Was a _thing_. That people could _do_.

I moved closer to inspect the kunai, thrumming with excitement "That's amazing! How does it work?" I asked eagerly. "Did you invent it? How much chakra does it use? How does it feel to teleport? Did you get sick at first? Do you _still_ get sick? I would, I think."

Minato blinked, bewildered at my barrage of questions. In his confusion I managed to snatch the kunai and inspected it closely.

"I, uh, yes, as a matter of fact I did get sick at first."

I looked up and said, "Did you ever, like, mistakenly teleport everything except one leg?"

" _Ukiyo_!" Rin gasped.

"How would that even work?" Kakashi grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Wouldn't he be dead if that had ever happened?"

"Well, not necessarily, if his leg and his body were still connected through whatever dimension he passed through, he could just . . ." I flapped my hands. "Reverse it."

"What makes you say I pass through a different dimension?" Minato asked, surreptitiously making a grab for his kunai.

I skipped away and held it up to the light. "Everyone _knows_ you have to go through a different dimension to teleport. Unless the jutsu dematerializes every cell in your body and reconstructs them at another location out of the base elements present in the air – leaving you to question whether or not you're still the real you if every atom in your body is swapped out, or if the process of deconstruction is actually a kind of death, which would mean that every time you teleport you die and leave behind an imposter to live your life unaware that he's soulless clone of a dead man." I looked back at Minato. "Are you a soulless copy of a dead man, Minato-san?"

He gulped, suddenly looking unsure. "No?"

"Then," I waved the kunai. "Dimensional transport!"

"Yes, right, Ukiyo-chan, could you please give it back?"

"Can I keep it?"

"What for?"

"It's _cool_."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's an actual teleportation device. I want it."

"Ukiyo-chan, I need that kunai. It's not a toy."

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly handed it over. I eyed it as Minato replaced it in his kunai holster.

Teleportation. _Wack_.

I turned to Kakashi. In my excitement over Minato's jutsu, I'd completely forgotten I was supposed to be mad at him, while at the same time supposed to try and make up with him. He most certainly hadn't forgotten the first point – and his usual attitude was out in full force today. The day Kakashi didn't sulk was the day the sky would drop on top of all our heads.

"Hi," I waved.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm training with you today. Is that going to be a problem?"

Kakashi looked to Minato, almost pleadingly.

"I'm doing a favor for her sensei. It's only for a little while," Minato said. "Besides, aren't you two friends?"

"Yep," I piped up before Kakashi could say anything. "We are! Glad to be joining you, Kakashi, Rin . . . hey, where's Obito?"

"Late," Kakashi grumbled, as he moved to set his pack down by the posts. "Might as well get started." He sounded like he was resigned to his own execution by beheading.

I kept an eye out for Obito as we warmed up. Rin and I helped each other stretch, and my mind wandered as I contemplated where in the world that boy could possibly be.

We were practicing our kunai throwing (or, Rin and I were – Kakashi was lazily flicking shuriken around), when Obito burst into the clearing, babbling some nonsense about helping an old lady cross the road. Kakashi immediately started in on him, before Minato moved to do damage control in what was undoubtedly a recurring scenario among this team.

"Alright!" Minato clapped his hands together. "Now that we're all here, we can get started!"

I looked at the kunai I was still holding, confused as to what we'd actually been doing up till now.

"Not that we haven't been training at all," he corrected himself. "But I had something in mind for this session. Ukiyo-chan, this is your first-time training with us and I'd like to get an idea of what you can do. The fastest way to do that is to have you spar with one of my adorable students."

I blanched. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I'm too young to die."

"Nonsense! I'll be here the whole time. If it gets out of hand, I'll intervene. You saw how fast I am. Teleportation, remember?" He winked and turned to his team. "Obito! You're up!"

"Huh?" Obito blinked dumbly. "Me? Why not Rin?"

"Because I said so. Now, please get ready!" Minato waved us over to a relatively flat area of the grounds where the grass had been worn away. He gently moved me to one end while Obito planted himself at the other. I was too dumbfounded to resist. Kakashi and Rin took their spots off to the side and Minato joined them.

"Shinobi hand to hand combat! Jutsu are allowed, no use of deadly force. Make the seal!"

Obito grinned. His eyes sparkled in excitement from behind his bright orange goggles. He brought his hand up in the half-seal, like we'd been taught at the Academy.

I was panicking, hard. I'd never managed to win a single spar, not once. I didn't have training like Obito did. When was the last time I'd sparred with, well, anybody? The Academy? He probably had spars for breakfast, against Kakashi no less. He had a teacher who could teleport.

I had a few weeks of running for my life from a crazy woman with a butcher's knife.

I was screwed.

I swallowed and brought my hand up in the half-seal. Think, Ukiyo, you hopeless, unlucky . . .

"Begin!"

Obito's grin widened as he brought his hands together to begin a series of handsigns I recognized. I was going to get fried to a crisp. Like a barbecue chicken.

"Katon, Fireball . . ."

I didn't give him time to finish. I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I ran.

This was starting to become a theme.

Straight into the woods, with Obito's astounded squawking echoing in my ears. I needed time to think. Or at least, time to delay my own inevitable death by child soldier.

"Why are you running away?" Obito called after me.

I didn't answer. I ran up a tree and hid among the bushes, squashing my presence down like Kirigane had taught me.

Obito's footsteps slowed, then stopped.

"Come out! Let's fight fair and square!"

An idea came to me. Keeping my presence and chakra low like a simmering pot, I crept among the branches until I was close to Obito's position. I drew a shuriken and flicked it.

The shuriken shot through the tree tops on the other side of my position, rustling the leaves and landing with a _thunk_ against the wood.

"Over there! Fireball jutsu!"

I felt the heat as Obito spit a gout of flames right into the trees, and I was grateful it had been raining because this was just _asking_ for a forest fire. That boy needed a stern talking to by Smokey the Bear. Remember, only you can stop forest fires, and you can start by _not_ spitting chakra-fueled fireballs into very flammable trees.

While Obito's attention was diverted, I crawled up the branch until I was straight above him.

That was where my strategy ended.

I drew a kunai and dropped right onto him.

The noise he made when I landed on his back and squashed all the air out of him was funny – a kind of _oof_.

"Hey!" Obito yelled in a strangled voice, kicking his feet and wriggling under me. "That's not fair! We're supposed to spar!"

I was confused. "Is that not what I'm doing!"

"No! This is a sneak attack! This isn't stealth training, you know!"

"Oh." I wasn't sure I grasped the difference.

At that point Obito must have realized I wasn't actually holding the kunai to his throat – he reared back and knocked the back of his head into my face, hard enough I saw stars. He then reached over his shoulder, grabbed my clothing and flipped me over to the ground. The impact forced all the air out of my lungs. He was on me and punched me in the face before I managed to get my arms up in a cross guard. I kicked out on instinct and got him in . . . a very sensitive place.

 _Hard_.

He rolled off me with a deep groan and curled into himself.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" I gasped. "I didn't mean to, I swear!"

Obito only whimpered.

"This is pathetic."

I looked up to see Kakashi staring at us from a few meters away.

"What . . . did you . . . say?" Obito growled, rolling over to his knees and trying to sit up straight enough to glare at his teammate.

"You really shouldn't move. I'll go get . . ." I tried saying, but Kakashi cut me off.

"I said, pathetic. If this had been a real mission, you would have failed the second she got the drop on you."

"I didn't expect . . . a stealth attack . . ."

"Shinobi should be prepared for anything. It's in the rules."

Obito turned red with anger and staggered to his feet. "Why don't you shove your stupid _rules_ up . . ."

"Ooookay, let's all calm down," Minato finally stepped in. "Obito, you're in no shape to continue, so the victory goes to Ukiyo-chan. Make the resolution sign."

It wasn't much of a victory, but it also hadn't been much of a match at all, so I wasn't sure what I was supposed to take from this aside from the fact that I didn't know how to ninja properly, which I already knew and didn't need to be reminded of. Obito and I clasped our fingers together. He grinned weakly at me.

"Next time, I won't lose."

"I'm sure you won't. Sorry again, about, hum," I gestured vaguely.

He turned white and winced. "Yeah . . . don't worry about it. Actually, do me a solid, and don't ever mention it again."

I helped him hobble back to the main area of the training ground. As soon as he saw Rin he perked up and walked on his own, bravely (or stupidly) choosing to wince with every step. He played off his injury but Rin didn't buy it. I saved his dignity by telling her I hit him in the stomach, and he'd be fine with a little rest.

That was the least I could do for him.

She still insisted on taking him to the hospital though, and put her arm around him to help him walk. He didn't look too annoyed at that.

* * *

After the 'fight' (heavy air quotes included), I was told to meditate and work on my chakra control. While I did what I was told (or pretended to), I watched what Minato and Kakashi were up to. What the teacher was showing the student was absolutely fascinating.

It was like a mini blue twister jammed into a sphere the size of a baseball, hovering right on his palm. It was obviously made of chakra. Kakashi copied Minato, and held out a similar ball.

Minato nodded in approval. "I think you're ready to start adding your chakra nature to it."

My ears perked up.

"There isn't much I can tell you except to keep at it until you get it down." Minato grinned bashfully. "I haven't managed to get that far yet."

Kakashi worked on doing something to the blue spinning thing, with Minato watching him. He focused and his chakra flared. White filaments appeared among the spinning blue. The first few times, it dissipated as soon as they did. Eventually, more and more white crept up. Bolts of captive lightning crackled inside the sphere, taking over the blue. A faint sound, like chirping, reached my ears.

It was fascinating to watch.

After half an hour, Kakashi collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Minato said.

"I can keep going."

"You're out of chakra. Go for a run to cool down. One lap around the grounds."

Kakashi got up and left, leaving me alone with Minato. I got up and went up to him, tired of meditating. My legs were numb and it wasn't like it did me much good anyway. Any time I had to slow down and think too hard about what I was doing with my chakra, I ended up hitting my mental block.

I put my hands on my hips. "I can't see how this was in any way productive," I said drily.

Minato blinked. "You don't?"

"I didn't learn anything knew, except that I'm not supposed to do sneak attacks during sparring."

Minato shrugged. "The more you know. Next time will go better."

"Next time I'm just going to run away again. Isn't that a solid strategy if I can't fight?"

"Not everything can be solved by running away, Ukiyo-chan. It's a good skill to have when taijutsu isn't your forte, but you need to build up some physical skills to be a well-rounded ninja. It may take time, but with practice, I know you can do it."

"Practice." I swallowed. "I don't think I have the time. I'm going to be sent out again soon."

"Kirigane will help you. Before you do, she instructed me to give you as much sparring experience as I could fit in a month. Every day, you'll alternate between Obito and Rin."

"Do I really have to?" I whined.

Minato grinned, and ruffled my hair. "It's the best way. Slow and steady, bit by bit, you're going to get stronger. I promise."

I gave him a look. "Only because Kirigane's got something on you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Why do you think I wouldn't do this even if she hadn't asked? You're Kakashi's friend, of course I would help if I could!"

I eyed him suspiciously.

"I would, I swear!"

"Right. Anyway," I thought about the spinning ball thing. "What was that, Kakashi was working on? The blue thing?"

Minato blinked. "The Rasengan?"

"Yes. What is it?"

Minato held up his hand. The sphere whirled to life. "This is my own original jutsu. It's chakra manipulation in its purest and most extreme form – spinning chakra compressed into a tight ball, giving it enormous destructive power."

"How do you do it?" I held up my hand, already molding chakra. "Just make it spin?"

His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but I was no longer paying attention to him.

I pulled chakra to my palm and got to work. It was difficult to keep a hold of. Spinning thing naturally want to move outwards (because of a little thing called centrifugal force), so keeping the chakra in a neat, tidy little spinny light show was more difficult than it looked. I guessed that was where the power came from. On impact, all the force generated by keeping the chakra spinning tightly would be unleashed, sending it out in a destructive spiral.

I focused on making it tight. Faster and faster, tighter and tighter, countless little streams of chakra running round and round . . . I quickly hit my mental block, so I did what I always did when controlling chakra got too difficult.

I pictured it as water.

"What are you doing?"

My concentration shattered. I opened my eyes and saw Kakashi. He was back from his run.

"Nothing," I said as wisps of chakra vanished off my palm. I wiped it on my kimono. I remembered the other reason I was here. Training was important, so I didn't want to get to it before it was over, but now it was and it was time. "Hey, Kakashi? You wanna go somewhere?"

He eyed me. "N . . ."

"He would love to!" Minato interjected. He took my wrist and pressed something into my palm. Coins. "Go have a snack, on me. As a reward."

"But I didn't do well . . ."

"Off you go!" Minato shooed us and disappeared with a _pop_.

There was a moment of silence. I turned to him and said,

"Wanna go get ice cream?"

* * *

I bought the treat from the vendor and handed over Minato's money while Kakashi waited on a bench next to the park. It was getting to be late afternoon, so the sun was already setting and the children were being ushered home by their parents. Streetlights clicked on, throwing pools of yellow light on the ground.

I broke the blue popsicle in two and handed one half to Kakashi. I took a bite.

I watched the children while I ate the frozen treat. They walked by with their parents, happily ranting about the day's adventures. One girl held both her parent's hands and they swung her up high. A boy sat on his father's shoulders and kicked his feet as he babbled. I picked out conversations about ninja games; dinner plans; fussing over a scrape – one child fell asleep in their parent's arms.

Kakashi's popsicle slowly dripped on the ground. Mine melted onto my fingers.

Night fell completely and everyone was gone. We were alone on the bench, among yellow spotlights and syrupy blue sweetness, and I could guess what he was thinking.

"Do you miss your dad?"

"No!" He snapped.

I took a bite of what was left of my popsicle. "I think you do. You're living alone, aren't you?"

"I made chuunin. I have the right to live by myself," he grumbled.

"And I'm an orphan. If the Nara clan hadn't taken me in, I would have to."

He was silent.

I sighed. "Sorry, low blow." I slurped up the half-melted mess and tossed the stick into a nearby garbage can. "How've things been? Missions and all that? Seen some interesting stuff?"

". . . They're just missions. They're not 'interesting.'"

I hummed and leaned back. I kicked my feet and licked my fingers. "Well, I have. I've done missions all over the village, you wouldn't _believe_ what I could tell you about some people. I won't, because privacy and all, but still, fun stuff. I have friends, Shin and Kai, and they've been stealing scrolls from the library for us to practice on. I learned tree-walking and water-walking thanks to that. We practiced together. But I have a sensei now!"

"Kirigane. I heard. You know she's a veteran from the Second World War, right?"

"She may have mentioned that."

"How did you get her to train you?"

I grinned. "I impressed her."

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. "How?"

I turned so I faced him fully and brought my legs up to cross them on the bench. I held out my hands, palms up, and kneaded chakra. I turned its nature to water, and moved it up my veins, a task by now far easier than controlling regular chakra. It just . . . _flowed_.

Kakashi watched as I pressed my palms together and smiled mischievously. Kakashi unconsciously leaned in closer.

" _Washah_!" I made a silly noise as I opened my hands to reveal a fine network of woven water threads. "Here's . . . Diamonds! Here's . . . A bridge! Here's . . . a fish!" Each time, I clapped my hands back together and opened them to reveal a different pattern in water strings – a makeshift Cat's Cradle.

Kakashi stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Suiton . . .?" he said, like he couldn't believe it.

"Yep!" I condensed the water into a ball. With one finger, I tapped it and drew it into a long, flowing ribbon. "I learned through the scrolls. Pretty neat, huh?"

Kakashi snorted. I tilted my head at him, but he'd turned his face away.

"Why . . . why nature transformation? Of all things?" He made a sound like he was choking. "There's got to be something more useful to learn than Suiton. What about taijutsu? Or genjutsu? Or, traps, or poisons, or something, _anything_ but _Suiton_ . . . most ninja don't even start learning until they become Chuunin. Out of everything, you had to pick . . ." He clapped his hand over his mouth but couldn't stifle his laugh. "The most. Difficult. Skill. To learn!"

I stared at the water in my hands. I shrugged and said, "Yep."

He curled in on himself, laughing into his hands. I watched him, playing with my water like it was Play-Doh, utterly delighted. Kakashi was laughing!

"I give up," he said after a few wonderful moments of expressing something that wasn't anger, or condescension, or irritation.

"On what?"

"On figuring you out. You're just . . ." He made a motion with his hand.

"Just what? There had better be something nice in there, mister, or I'll tell Minato on you."

"You," he finished. "Just . . . you."

I rolled my eyes and twisted around to let my legs dangle back off the seat of the bench. I tossed the water in the air and it exploded into fine mist that was gone before it could drift to the ground "Of course I'm me. And you're you. And that's perfectly alright."

He leaned back, head on the backrest, looking tired and boneless. He blinked up at the sky. I leaned back and blinked with him. The stars were out.

"I couldn't stay there," he said after a while.

"At the house? Can't blame you."

"I still think it was all my dad's fault."

"I still disagree with you. Well," I made a so-so gesture. "To be fair, some of it was his fault. I'm still really angry at him."

"You are?" Kakashi asked, so stunned he turned his face towards me, eyebrows high.

"Of course. What he did to you wasn't okay. Who does that to their kid? What if I hadn't been there? Good lord, that was _not okay_. I still need to give him a piece of my mind." I was getting worked up just thinking about it. "But I don't blame him for the mission failing, or for what my dad did. Sakumo did what he thought was right, and he did save my dad. The choice my dad made in the end is all on him."

"Do you regret what happened?"

"You mean, do I regret saving your dad instead of mine? No. I did what I could. That's all anyone can do."

Kakashi fell silent, but he was still looking at me.

"I still think he was wrong. I still think following the rules is the best thing to do."

"It's okay for you to think that. Just don't get so hung up over them you forget what's actually important."

He frowned. "What's that?"

"I don't know. It's different for everybody."

"You aren't making sense," he grumbled.

I laughed. "Aren't I? But I'm fine with that. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"And you? What's most important to you?"

"The village!" I reached up high as if I could clasp my sticky hands around spotlights and stars. "I want to make it better. I want to make life easier for people. I want everyone to be happy. And I'll fight for that, I'll try as hard as I can. I'll spar with Obito and Rin every day, even if I get beat up, I'll work in the war zone with Kirigane, I'll practice Suiton and then I'll pass the Chuunin exams."

I sat up abruptly and he jumped. I wagged my finger in his face.

"And I'm going to get that apology!"

He twitched, and a weirdly anxious look came into his eyes. "You said it was fine!"

"I changed my mind. Whenever you're ready, I'll take it. In the meantime, you better work on that rotten attitude of yours."

"Rotten . . . _excuse_ me?"

"You should be nicer to your teammates. They're my friends too and I won't let you be mean to them." I reached out and pulled on his cheek. "No bullying!"

He batted me away. "Urg, whatever!" He rubbed his cheek, glaring morosely – but it wasn't as harsh as it used to be.

"You know," Kakashi grumbled. He shifted his gaze to the side. "I . . . it's not that I didn't care you were dead."

I nodded. I knew it must be true, but hearing it still made something deep it my chest feel warm. "Sorry about that. I'll be more careful next time. Actually, you know what? How about I make a promise?"

I grabbed his hand. I intertwined our pinky fingers.

I stared at him intently, and he stared back.

"I promise you I will always come home."

Kakashi blinked. His eyes looked shiny in the half-light.

"You . . ." he started. He looked away, a band of red showing above his mask. "That's stupid. You can't promise that. You're a shinobi, you could die at any time. Also," he made a face. "Your hand is sticky."

I grinned.

"I'm not just any shinobi. I'm Fujimi Ukiyo. And I'm not going to die for a long, long time."

* * *

AN/

Longer than usual, mostly because it all got away from me a little bit. Probably good, given that this chapter is a little late.

Speaking of which, NaNoWriMo is upon us! Since I don't think I'm capable of writing an entire novel in one month, I've decided to challenge myself to finishing my original novel, which I've been working on for years. Due to that, in addition to my real life responsibilities, I may not have much time to work on fanfiction during November. I don't know yet how I'm going to juggle everything, so don't be surprised if the next update lags a little.

Like my stuff? Buy me a Ko-fi! Through the link on my profile page, you can make a small donation to show your support. They're always very much appreciated.

Comments, praise, criticism, rants, complaints, requests, random thoughts, reactions to what happened? Leave a review!

Peace out.


	21. In Which They Hug

When had my life turned into a slapstick comedy montage?

Was the question I pondered, lying on my back in the dirt, staring up at the quaint little clouds drifting across the sky. It was a blindingly bright day, blue and windy and with a slight touch of stubborn winter chill. Oh, was that a sheep? White and fluffy and smiley?

Or maybe it was God, laughing down at me. I'd bet my right foot those fools in the afterlife office were having the blast of the millennium, watching me get my rear merrily kicked across the training field day in, day out.

Rin's face popped into view as she leaned over me, forehead creased in a worried frown. The crown of her head was haloed by white fluff. She prodded my cheek.

"Ukiyo-chan? Are you still alive?"

"I cannot feel my legs," I answered.

Her frown flipped into an exited grin. She clapped her hands together. "So it worked! Thank you so much! I thought I'd never get it down."

"No sweat."

"Really, thank you. Now roll over so I can undo it."

"Do I have to? This is nice. I'm enjoying this," I said. Rin rolled her eyes. She grabbed me by my sash, heaved, and I flopped onto my stomach like a dead fish. "Oh look, dirt," I muttered.

Rin hit me sharply low on my spine, and with a wave of pins and needles, feeling returned to my legs.

She'd been practicing this technique for the past few days during our sparring matches. I'd agreed to stand in for a practice dummy because I figured that out of all her potential guinea pigs, I was the one least likely to walk away with permanent nerve damage. God forbid she injure Obito or Kakashi. They were just kids, and who knows what kind of long term damage she could do to them? Only a medical ninja had the potential and capacity to mess up the human body in ways that ranged from morbidly funny to horrifyingly twisted.

I lay there for a while longer, until a sandaled foot came into my field of vision.

"Get up."

"I will. When I feel like it."

"Are you quitting?"

"No. I'm taking a break. Do you know what that is, Kakashi? Do you?" I knew he did not. He might have, once upon a time, when he was a cute little kid, but now he was so hyper-focused on the ninja stuff that every hour of every day was channeled into training. Like a cat, chasing after a laser pointer.

I couldn't say I didn't understand - I'd been hooked on my work, back in my day. So hooked I didn't notice I had cancer until I literally passed out in the middle of the street.

"It's only been an hour. It's too soon for a break. Get up."

"I'll get up when Obito gets here. I already sparred against Rin."

"Thank you!" Rin cheerfully called over.

Kakashi sighed. He prodded my side with his foot. "Up, Ukiyo."

I groaned and pushed myself up to my knees. I looked up at Kakashi. His head was outlined in blue and stray drifting clouds, the sunlight at his back making him look like a dark cutout. He looked awfully far away from me. It made me feel like he was somewhere off in his own world, looking down and waiting for me to catch up.

"Alright," I said. "I'm up. Rin, I can go again."

Rin grinned at me with delight. "You sure? Oh, can I try my chakra scalpels? I promise I'll only hit your clothing!"

The corner of my mouth twitched. I voiced my assent.

We faced off, made our signs with one hand, and I spent the next hour or so dodging blades as thin as a hair. Kakashi watched the whole time.

She got me a few times - sliced beyond my clothing, cuts so fine they healed before they had a chance to bleed, so that by the end Rin was satisfied with her progress and I felt rather guilty for misleading her, for making her think she'd done perfect when she hadn't. But then I figured that encouragement of this kind wasn't the worst thing in the world. She'd keep on getting better. Once day, she'd be so good she could slice a single hair off my head, and until then, I didn't mind if the blades strayed a little.

It's not like it hurt.

* * *

Training with Team 7 wasn't all that bad – certainly not as difficult as I anticipated. Minato was a good teacher, if somewhat hard to read, always smiling in a neutrally pleasant kind of way. He assured me I was making progress, but I couldn't tell if he honestly meant it or if he thought telling me I sucked would cause my motivation to wither faster than one of those miniature cacti I'd once bought over and over at the garden store because my apartment was lifeless and I didn't have time for a real plant. Regardless, my determination was stronger than a cactus. It was more like a weed. If being told I wasn't worth much had the power to hold me down, I would have long since quit being a ninja in this life, and never left home in my previous one.

Rin was a darling. An angel. A goddess of light and joy. She brought food and put flowers in my (short, dreadfully short) hair. A single smile from her could brighten my day like a sunrise. Obito was terminally late and his voice when doled out in large doses could get aggravating, but he was endearing in his own, stubborn, pig-headed way. And of course, I got to spend time with Kakashi. He didn't talk all that much, but didn't spend all his time on his own either. He was just sort of . . . there. He trained and he practiced and he stood by as I struggled, watching out of the corner of his eye. He indulged me when I tried to draw his attention away by talking nonsense and showing off new fun things I figured out how to do with Suiton. He was the first one I showed when I managed to make ice by focusing chakra-based water into a tiny compact ball (I couldn't do anything with it, but still, it was neat).

Controlling water was becoming second nature, easier even than controlling regular chakra. I practiced it while reading, at night before I fell asleep, on the way to and from practice, until one night I woke up with my arms outstretched towards the ceiling and a swirling water sphere between my hands. It splashed all over my face.

"Why don't you incorporate Suiton into your taijutsu?" Kakashi asked me one day.

I didn't have a satisfactory answer. I guess my taijutsu had always been so abysmal that trying to add something to it seemed like a waste of time.

But the weirdest thing was – I think I was actually getting better at it.

After a month of daily sparring, I still couldn't win, but during the last few days we had together before I was set to go back out on deployment, I actually started to land some hits. I dodged Rin's deadly pressure point attacks and kicked the kunai out of Obito's hand. I only ran away about ten percent of the time now! Obito and Rin ended most matches with a few new nicks and bruises, and one time I managed to fight Obito to a draw by going for his goggles and kicking sand in his precious eyes. Rin was too smart to fall for that kind of trick but Obito was surprisingly straightforward, almost to the point of being obvious. I eventually figured out that his attack pattern was pretty simple – charge forward, used a fireball if in doubt, and maybe throw in a kunai if it looked like it might come in handy. He constantly got his rear served to him on a platter by Kakashi, so I kind of started to empathize with him and like him more than I would have otherwise. Losers of the world, unite!

It was fun. A lot of fun, actually. I didn't take missions the whole time I was there, only trained and hung out with the four of them. I felt like this was what it was like, having a team. This was what everyone else in my class had, while I was running myself ragged taking odd jobs and trying to glean scraps of useful information from stolen scrolls and teaching myself jutsu with no rhyme or reason. Minato was helpful, even though I wasn't really his student and he was (probably) being blackmailed into helping me. He corrected my form and gave me advice on what I did wrong. His hope, he told me, was to have me develop a fighting style that relied on flexibility and agility more than raw power or speed. I was pretty good at the gymnastics stuff, like flips and aerial maneuvers, so I should be able to incorporate those skills into a taijutsu style heavily based on evasion. The point was basically to be so slippery and twisty no one would be able to land a hit on me, while I could strike with precision or maneuver away to use long-range attacks. This worked better for me because training with Kirigane had already heavily primed me for dodging, so now I had to figure out how to make it into something that could be used in an actual fight. I was still stuck on that point.

But all good things must come to an end. Kirigane was set to be discharged, and new deployment orders were about to come down. She already mentioned she'd requested me as a Genin assistant on her next job, so I would be headed back into the warzone. Part of me wished I didn't have to go, but the other told me loud and clear that this was my job, and it was what I needed to do.

My last day training with Team 7 was bittersweet.

"You've come very far," Minato said. He gave me a thumb's up. "I know it wasn't easy for you, but good job!"

"Yeah, good job Ukiyo-chan!" Rin pitched in.

"Now, for your final session with us, how about this." Minato pushed Kakashi forward by his shoulders. "For your last sparring match, you'll go up against Kakashi."

Kakashi nodded at me. I blinked a few times.

"Can't we negotiate?" I blurted out.

Minato laughed and patted my hair. "It'll be fine!"

"No it won't. There is no possible way that it will."

"You've been working hard. Have more faith in yourself."

"I do. I have faith in the weakness of my abilities."

Minato's smile turned forced. "That's what practice is for. To improve."

"There's trying to improve, and then there's volunteering to get torn to shreds."

Something in Minato's expression withered. He stepped closer, lifted my chin, looked me dead in the eye, and said in a tone as dead as I was about to be,

" _ _Stop whining__."

My mouth fell open.

Minato stepped away and motioned us both to the center of the training field. Kakashi didn't __look__ like he'd heard that just now, or maybe he just didn't care. It was probably the latter. He made the half-sign, signaling that he was reading to begin.

My stomach dropped to my knees. Yeah. I was dead meat.

Let's at least try to avoid becoming a sitting roast duck.

I focused, and made the half-sign in return.

Immediately I had to throw myself to the side to avoid a kick. I cartwheeled and sprung into a backflip, narrowly evading the following blows. Kakashi wasn't wasting any time.

I got my feet under me, saw Kakashi rush at me with a kunai drawn – I quickly molded chakra, sent it to my feet and jumped up high.

I touched down on his outstretched arm with the ball of one foot. For a split second I hovered in the air, perfectly balanced with the wind on my bare neck, and then I kicked him in the face.

He snatched my ankle and threw me away. I landed hard on my back and rolled out of the path of a shuriken volley. One hit the ground right beside my ear with the most chilling __thunk__. I considered running into the forest. The thought flashed away as quickly as it had sprung up. I had to think outside the box. I had to __stop running__.

I shot to my feet and threw myself at Kakashi with a war cry worthy of a newborn lamb, kunai held aloft, all subtlety gone with the wind.

It at least __surprised__ him. His eyes went wide as he just barely dodged the thrust aimed at his side. I gritted my teeth, planted one foot to the ground, rotated my hips and roundhouse kicked him while he was off-balance. I got him low on the back and was about to follow up with a punch when a flash of light on a kunai hit me straight in the eyes. I felt a few hits to my legs and side and then I was on the ground, looking up at the clouds. Spots swam as I blinked away the temporary blindness.

Kakashi had his knee on my chest and was about to swipe the kunai to my throat and end the match when I shoved my foot underneath myself and pushed up. Kakashi was thrown off and rolled away. I flipped up and over until I was standing. I had an idea.

I brandished my kunai and ran at him again. This time he wasn't surprised. He sprang forward to meet me halfway. At the last second I threw my weight back, leg forward, and slid straight into his ankle like it was a soccer ball.

Kakashi tripped. Of course he did. That was a perfect sliding tackle. Sort of illegal in soccer, but hey, all's fair in love and war.

He fell onto me and our heads clunked together. I blinked away the stars busting in my eyes as we wrestled on the ground, and somehow got my arm around his neck in a chokehold. He could have reached for a kunai and stabbed me, but this wasn't the kind of spar where we went that far, and it wouldn't have done much to me anyway. Instead, he grabbed my arm and something weird, like a buzzing, shot through me. I loosened my hold in surprise and he twisted around and threw me to the ground.

Breath was expelled from my lungs with a choked __oof__ and then he finally got his kunai at my throat.

We stared into each others eyes.

I grinned.

"That's far enough!" Minato called. "Kakashi wins!"

He stepped off and held out his hand to help me up. My heart was pounding pleasantly fast from the adrenaline. Our joined hands turned into a Seal of Reconciliation. I looked right into his eyes. There was something a little satisfied about the way he looked at me. He nodded.

"Uhm. Not bad," he muttered before going to pick up the discarded shuriken littering the area.

"Not bad?!" Obito piped up. "What's not supposed to mean, 'not bad?' She kicked your butt! She got you on the ground!"

"That was a good fight Ukiyo-chan."

Minato nodded, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, better. Much better than before. More facility with taijutsu, better reaction time . . . and some creative thinking mixed in." He nodded again, more decisively this time, and smiled widely. "Kirigane-san will be very pleased."

Obito had gone to hassle Kakashi some more while we talked. He followed after him, miming bits from the fight while Kakashi pretended to ignore him and Rin looked on and giggled.

I looked up at Minato. "I'll be getting my new orders tomorrow."

He looked back at him. His smile slipped into something more serious. "You will."

"I'm going to come back in one piece. Or maybe two, depending. But no more, I promise."

He shook his head. "Be careful out there, Ukiyo."

I rolled my eyes. I puffed up my chest and proudly set my hands on my hips. "Duh. I know what it's like. I'm a seasoned veteran, you know."

He crouched so we were eye level with each other. His smile returned, but it was stiff and forced and he couldn't keep his eyebrows from tilting in a way that made him look very sad. He reached out and patted my head. My hair was down to my shoulders now, with a few braids down the sides to keep it out of my face - it grew very fast.

"I know you are."

My bravado slid away like melting ice. I felt very small - very childish, and also, very very scared.

He fell silent. In the background, Kakashi had finally had enough and had snapped at Obito who took it as his cue to huff and puff and demand a fight.

I scuffed the ground with my foot. "Hey, Minato-san? Can I ask a favor?"

"Go ahead."

Kakashi swept Obito's legs out from under him. He fell and knocked his head on the ground. He rolled around clutching the back of his head, and Rin scolded Kakashi as he pretended not to listen.

I looked up, slowly. "Show me that thing again? The swirly blue thing? I can't remember what it's called."

Minato's eyes widened in surprise. "The Rasengan? Alright."

He held out his hand and the blue ball of contained destruction bloomed into existence. I leaned forward, peering deep into its depths, so much so that Minato pulled back with a quick laugh and said,

"Careful, don't go poking your nose in it!"

I blinked, and tilted my head, looking into it closely. I held out my hand and pondered the issue for a moment.

It was easy to visualize - a maelstrom in the palm of my hand - but it would take an almost inhuman amount of control to keep all that energy packed tightly.

I held up my own hand and tried to visualize. Spinning chakra in a circle wasn't all that difficult, but spinning it in a sphere was. A few attempts only led to little chakra tornadoes on my hand that quickly dissipated.

I frowned at my palm. It felt like there was something I was missing.

"Three steps," Minato suddenly said.

I blinked and looked up at him. He was holding up three fingers.

"Rotation, power, containment," he enumerated.

I looked between his fully formed Rasengan and my own bare palm. Rotation, power, containment. It dawned on me all at once. Like a lightbulb going __ping!__ right above my head.

A huge grin broke out on my face and I threw my arms around Minato's neck. He quickly let the dangerous sphere dissipate.

"Thank you!"

"I, hum . . . you're very welcome!" He said, and patted my back awkwardly.

I let go of him. The lack of movement where the trio was drew my attention. All three were looking our way, various levels of disbelief evident on their faces.

Well, since I was on a roll anyway!

I marched myself over there and hugged Rin. She hugged me back, with a little confused laugh. Then I turned to Obito, who stood stone still as if captured by Medusa while I squeezed my arms around him tight as I could, a little bit of retribution in there for beating me so many times. And finally, there was Kakashi.

He glared at me like 'don't you dare,' but otherwise didn't make a move. I sized him up. I took a step closer. His glare intensified. Another step. It became a little panicked.

Finally I grinned and stepped back. I wasn't going to be that mean to him.

"Don't worry, I'm sparing you the horrors of the hug," I said, and stuck my tongue out at him.

His eyes widened in what kind of looked like a flash of disappointment, but then Rin came up and hugged me again.

And that was it, more or less. My final training session with them was over. I left, waving goodbye over my shoulder. Before I turned around completely, I saw Minato holding up three fingers.

* * *

The next day, I was called to the mission room but instead of scanning the long list of assignments, a Chuunin officer flagged me down and handed me a folder.

"Fujimi-san, your orders. Kirigane-san requested you, so you're on her squad. Details are in the file." He spoke briefly and quickly left me to read over the documents, which I did in the corridor outside of the mission room.

This time, we were set to refurbish and upgrade an older outlook post near the Land of Rain. It was further away from what was quickly turning into the front lines, but there was some concern that Iwa might try to circle around the Land of Grass to hit us where we weren't so well defended.

Or so Kirigane explained as we waited by the front gates for the rest of the squadron to assemble. On the way, we would be checking hidden outposts and supply depots to make sure everything stashed there had survived the winter, as well as confirming the integrity of the supply line going east. If necessary, it would have to be cleared and secured, or possibly even diverted to the front lines if the occasion called for it.

"Can't have our forces going hungry," she quipped. "You ready for this, shrimp? Did Minato whip you into shape?"

"Yes ma'am!" I saluted.

"Good girl." She nodded, and grinned.

Among our squadron was Tetsu, who hid in the back and pretended not to notice me crazily jumping up at down and waving both arms at him to get his attention; Shin and Kai, the twins, who I was delighted to see had survived their first deployment even though they'd been sent on similar assignments as me, in what was now enemy territory; and a few other familiar faces from the Genin Corps. This time though, we had more Chuunin and a Jounin with us in case things went pear-shaped.

It was almost time to go. I'd said my goodbyes to everyone the day before, and Gai was on a mission of some kind so no one would be coming to see me off this time. Sumire and Shikaku were busy as well. The war was ramping up.

The time arrived and the gates opened.

"Form up!" Kirigane called, and we got into traveling formation. I was on the edge, towards the middle.

Suddenly a flash of silver caught my attention. I turned my head.

Kakashi was there, slouched over, hands in his pockets. He nodded when he caught me looking at him.

"Onward!"

We were moving. I starting walking automatically, eyes never leaving his. He was too far away to read, but I felt something very heavy weight down my chest. I remembered the previous day, that flash of disappointment I wasn't even sure he'd been aware of and . . .

I remembered that I was scared, but that I had made a promise.

I ducked out of formation and ran to him.

"Ukiy . . ."

I cut him off by throwing my arms around him. I squeezed, once, only once. He was very warm and very hard, like a little piece of cut stone left out in the sun. His elbows jabbed into my ribs. But his hair tickling my cheek was soft as wool.

I released him. His face was beet red.

I grinned apologetically. "Sorry, gotta go! I'll see you when I get back. You be a good boy."

"Wha . . . I . . ." he started to speak in a strangled voice but my unit was leaving and I had to go, pronto.

As I turned away he suddenly grabbed my hand in a vice-like grip.

I looked back over my shoulder, surprised, but he snatched his hand back and stuffed it in his pocket before turning his red, red face away.

". . . Never mind. Just go. See you when you get back."

All of a sudden, I had the feeling everything was going to be just fine. I smiled and waved as I ran backwards.

"See ya! I'll be back! In one piece! Or maybe two!"

He jerked up and glared my way as if about to tell me off, but I was already too far to hear.

I almost tripped over my own feet but finally caught up to my unit and slipped back into formation. I stuck my head out as we marched and saw him still waiting there by the open gate, so I waved and kept waving until I collided with the person marching behind me and had to straighten my act.

Onwards we went, back into the storm.

* * *

AN/

I feel like this chapter should come with an apology.

The past few months have been pretty rough for me. I've had multiple family members hospitalized, my job turned into an organisational nightmare, and I had to handle my grad school applications, to name a few. As I result, writing of any kind had to go on the back burner for a bit.

Good news is: I got into grad school; nobody I know has died; and I'm back to writing. I 'finished' my novel during NaNoWriMo, but it's still not how I want it to be, so I'm still working on that.

Thank you to everyone who's reading and supporting my stuff. It means a lot.

Like my stuff? Buy me a Ko-fi! Through the link on my profile page, you can make a small donation to show your support. They're always very much appreciated.

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Peace out.


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